Mardi Gras With Muggles
by Rex
Summary: Based on the idea of TheMischiefMakers comes a fic about Gilderoy Lockhart...and Mardi Gras...I honestly think this thing is probably my best. A hilarious comedy.
1. The Assignment

Mardi Gras With Muggles

Chapter 1: The Assignment

You know me. You know me very well. My name, as you know it, is Gilderoy Lockhart. I write these books, not only to entertain, but to warn you of the dangers of this world. There are many dangers in this world: hags, trolls, giants, You-Know-Who, bankers, Death Eaters, criminals, Basilisks, zombies, Muggle children, government-employed accountants, dragons, and many others. (For more information on Death Eaters, a grave threat in our world, see _Dances with Death Eaters_, the winner of the Ministry Literature Award for Best Non-Fiction Novel.)

My publishers, the wonderful folks at Cornish Pixie Publishing called me into their main office one day, November 3rd, 1988. I was extremely shocked and surprised. Why would they call me in? I am, after all, a man whose name alone sells thousands of hardcover books. I was not exactly scared, rather confused. It occurred to me that perhaps these wonderful folks at Cornish Pixie Publishing could perhaps begin to doubt me. Why would they do that? Why would they doubt me?

Fears aside, I stepped into the office, which was decorated with the cover pictures of many different books, most of them mine. The room was eerily lit. The covers seemed to glow. I saw my self doing many different things: wrestling a troll (_Travels with Trolls_), looking under a bed (_Mondays with Monsters_), capturing a fairy in a bottle (_Flirting with Fairies_), standing in front of a shelf of all my books (_Magical Me_), and many other things.

There was a huge desk amongst these covers. It was in the back of the room, and behind it sat my boss, R. M. M. Klerk. He was a large man, with huge shoulders, smoking a Muggle cigar imported from Havana. Behind him was the largest of the cover pictures, taking up the entire back wall, _Dances with Death Eaters_, the scariest thing I've ever been in. I was forced to go undercover in England and join a group of Death Eaters. Even faking you're a follower of You-Know-Who is an experience that will change your life forever. But enough with that. I am here to inform and entertain, not to depress.

"Lockhart, sit," said Klerk as I continued into the room. Klerk is one of those men that's always in charge, that never takes "no" for an answer. It's a slightly scary thing, but I took my mind off that as I sat in the large leather chair in front of his desk and an even larger leather chair. "I have a new assignment for you."

R. M. M. Klerk stopped there. It was as if he expected me to say something, protest this new assignment or something like that. So I said something:

"What is it, Sir?" I asked Klerk, who smiled. I have always had a feeling Klerk does not like me. Klerk puffed his cigar before answering.

"Lockhart, you're half the reason Cornish Pixie Publishing is in business; but we can't always let you choose your own assignment. No, we can't. Your books are usually huge bestsellers; but we've just learned with the failure of your last book, which only sold a million copies, that you need to write a book that will be something the public responds to better," he said, smiling.

"Run that by me again," I replied. Klerk laughed and took another puff.

"We've got an assignment we know you'll love. You're going to New Orleans," he said. I frowned. Why would I be going to New Orleans?

"Is this the long-awaited voodoo book?" I asked, referring to the underground form of magic practiced in the area where New Orleans was.

"No, definitely not. Voodoo's not something the public's interested in. The public wants something else. As I said, they–"

"Want something fun," I continued. "Look, I know my books have been depressing, but you're gonna have to deal with that. The past few years have been a giant party." Klerk took a puff on his cigar before putting it out. He sat back in his chair, his face staring into mine.

"I have a backup for this, Gilderoy. I can call for her," he said. I nodded. I am not used to receiving assignments from my boss.

"Who?" I inquired. Klerk's expression straightened even more. It was a strange thing, seeing my boss confront me with this weird face of his.

"Don't get smart with me, Lockhart. I can call Rita Skeeter any time, you–"

"Okay, I'll take it!" I yelled. R. M. M. Klerk smiled, proud that he was able to manipulate me with his evil ways of the corporate world. "What is it exactly? Hopefully nothing to do with Death Eaters..."

" 'Course not. You think I'd send you to New Orleans to deal with Death Eaters? But you thought of _Dances with Death Eaters_, so I mean...well, I hope you'll have some fun on this trip, too," he said. I wondered what was wrong with this man. Corporate bosses are not usually nice unless they're either firing you or transferring you.

"What?" I asked.

"Let me put it this way: you're going to New Orleans to learn about the Muggle tradition of Mardi Gras. You'll leave January 31st of next year. You'll spend about a week studying Muggles and Mardi Gras, then come back and have your book published in December," R. M. M. Klerk said. "I hope you learn a lot, Lockhart," he added with a slight grin I would associate with that of a mischievous child.

"And I have sufficient research materials to prepare me ahead of time?" I asked. R. M. M. nodded.

"We've spent more than we should spend," he said. I nodded. "One more thing," he said, "if this book gets as many accolades as _Dances with Death Eaters_, you'll be in for the biggest paycheck you've gotten since _Midnights with Mermaids_."

"That was my last book, Sir," I said, clearing that issue up. Of course, I hate to think back to the dreaded book, which only sold a million copies. I nearly got fired. It's just too depressing to think of.

"Well, then, you'll get a larger paycheck than when you wrote that book," Klerk said. "But I don't want to remind you how much money we lost with it. We have ten million copies sitting in a warehouse in . I hope you haven't lost your touch..."

"Of course not!" I yelled. "This book is gonna be huge! Now, I'm going to go research Mardi Gras. Good day to you, Mister Klerk." I turned and left the room without saying another thing.

That next afternoon, I found myself constantly reading up on the strange Muggle holiday. It's an amazing one, too. You see, Mardi Gras occurs the day before Ash Wednesday; but the Mardi Gras season starts about two weeks before. It's French, and you should leave it to the French to create such a holiday. Mardi Gras means "Fat Tuesday" in French, if my research is not mistaken.

The holiday goes back hundreds of years, and it is celebrated all around the world. As you know, many people do not eat meat during the season of Lent. During Mardi Gras, people eat as much meat as possible without killing themselves. (Or just obscene amounts of food.) Organizations called Krewes put on balls and brunches and parades during the Mardi Gras season, among other things. In the off-season, they put on fashion shows, dances, brunches, lunches, and dinners, among other things. (Yes, this is all oddly true. And I'm sorry if this is like a social studies lesson; but I must set everything up before actually traveling to New Orleans, not to mention get my facts straight.)

These parades are huge; there are giant floats pulled by Muggle motor-powered vehicles such as cars, tractors, trucks, and sport utility vehicles. People stand (or sit, kneel, stand on their hands, whatever they want) on these floats and throw various items to the hungry crowd.

And the biggest party in the world is in New Orleans, Louisiana, USA. I would have to travel there and endure the world New Orleans is. It's a dark, dim place.

On January 18th, I was called into Klerk's office. R. M. M. was wearing black robes and sitting at the desk he had been sitting at the previous time I had met him, looking almost exactly the same, except for his robe color. It was an odd contrast to the bright yellow of mine.

"Gilderoy!" he said. "Glad to see my favorite moneymaker in a good mood!"

"Yeah," I said. "What do you need me for?" R. M. M. puffed his cigar, then put it out. His feet seemed to go higher up on his desk.

"Lockhart, we've got your travel arrangements taken care of. You'll have a nonstop flight on International Airlines, which will leave at 3 PM, to New Orleans International Airport. You'll be met at the gate by Archie Delis, who will escort you to your hotel room at the Holiday Inn at the airport. The next day, you'll be taken to your first parade, in New Orleans, Bourbon Street," R. M. M. said. I did not respond, rather taking everything he had said into account. I'd have to spend hours surrounded by Muggles. It's a disturbing thing. My life would be in Muggle hands. They would not know who I am!

I sighed. This was how it was going to have to be done. "Yes, that'll be great," I said. I thought of Archie Delis, the former Ministry spy now taking residence in New Orleans. I had met him years ago (nine) at a party. We've been good friends ever since, keeping in touch by letter nowadays.

"Good, Lockhart, good!" R. M. M. said. "You have everything ready? Know your stuff?"

" 'Course, Sir," I said. "I know more than you know about Mardi Gras." R. M. M. laughed.

"That's not so tough!" He continued laughing.

"I guess I'll be leaving, Mister Klerk." R. M. M. abruptly stopped laughing.

"Yeah, go ahead," he said as I walked out. I smelt smoke as I stepped out, indicating he had lit another imported Muggle cigar from Havana.

The next day was a Thursday. It was raining–no, make that pouring–outside. I awoke in my bedroom. I peeked out a window, looking up at the gray sky. The window was covered in rain.

I quickly dressed, putting on a pair of purple robes, my newest buy from Wizard Wear. After doing that, I proceeded to my kitchen, eating breakfast. I had bacon, eggs, sausage, and milk. A hearty meal. I then looked through my mail: lots of fan mail, bills, book offers, and some credit card offers. You'd think I would not get offered deals for credit cards such as Pureblood Express, but I do for some reason...it's insane, I tell you. The fact that you are expecting your paycheck in the mail; but you get credit card offers from Pureblood Express, the Exploratory Card, and Passport just makes your day go by worse. (Even though the opportunity for appearance in ads for Passport around the world at a great salary is an exciting offer...)

I then apparated off to work. I greeted the many colleagues I work with as I made my way to my office. It's an amazing group of rooms, complete with a private study, secretary, and a personal bathroom. I greeted my secretary, Nina Whitewalls, and stepped into my private office.

My office was decorated with purple wallpaper and framed covers of all of my books. (And that's a lot of framed covers.) My desk was a large one, made of cypress wood, which ironically is found in Louisiana. My chair was a large, overstuffed leather one. There was a large bookshelf behind me, filled with research information. On my desk sat memos, more mail, things I would never look at, and hopefully a paycheck. I sat down in my overstuffed leather chair and looked through the pile of papers. No paycheck.

It was a disappointment, to say the least. I found my fan mail in the pile, too, along with offers from other publishing companies.

And another offer from Passport. It was addressed to me, marked "URGENT–OPEN NOW OR SUFFER THE DEADLY CONSEQUENCES! OPEN THIS NOW!" I knew I would have to open this, for it would make a loud howling noise (though it wasn't a howler) and altogether annoy me.

So I opened it.

****

Dear Mister Lockhart,

I am E. E. Guilin, the head of the advertising department at PASSPORT, the leader in credit of the wizard world. We would like to offer you a spot in our ads, with pay starting at five thousand galleons, though some ads will be more than others. We believe this would provide a great business asset to us and you as well. Please reply if interested.

With respect,

E. E. Guilin

****

E. E. Guilin

A great business asset? I thought for a moment. I already had advertisement deals up to my nose, but none for credit card corporations. I tried to think of a decent reply.

But before I wrote anything, I realized I had a problem.

I didn't have a Passport credit card. I believe there should be truth in advertising, so I addressed all of this in my letter.

****

Dear Mister Guilin,

Thank you for the great offer. I am considering it, but I do not have a PASSPORT card. I believe in truth in advertising and will require one if I am to become your corporate spokesperson. I will have to think about this offer, but please let me experience the PASSPORT card firsthand for myself. We will go from there. If I am not satisfied, I will be forced to decline. I do not know how long it will take me to experience the PASSPORT card.

Sincerely,

Gilderoy Lockhart

****

Gilderoy Lockhart

I smiled as I put the letter in my "OUT" box. It was magically whisked away to Nina. I then opened up my next letter, which was from one of my biggest fans: Amanda Fiddle. She has been in correspondence with me since my first book, _Voyages with Vampires_. She is undoubtedly my biggest fan. But I love all my fans, so there's a special place in my heart for all of you.

****

Dear Gilderoy,

How have things been going? Things are going just great the Gilderoy Lockhart Fan Club! We have received "insider" information from certain folks at Cornish Pixie that you are slated to write a book entitled Mardi Gras with Muggles_._. Is this true? I have been eagerly anticipating your new book, and you how much we loved Midnights with Mermaids. We personally can't wait if this is true. (We, as in the Gilderoy Lockhart Fan Club.) Is it? It could be your most interesting book to date, if you can pass up the excellent Dances with Death Eaters. Yes, we know how much a toll that took on you and your life. But it was an excellent book, nonetheless. I hope to hear from you soon!

Your biggest fan,

Amanda Fiddle

I smiled after having read Amanda's letter. Her letters were always straight from the heart. A true fan, she is. But who had told her about the book? This had happened before, and nobody at Cornish Pixie Publishing likes it.

****

Dear Amanda,

I am afraid I can confirm I have begun a book entitled Mardi Gras with Muggles. I have only recently begun the book and will be going out into the field in a few days. Please try to keep this information secret. R. M. M. Klerk would not like it getting out. He believes it has great potential, and perhaps he will start being nice to me and give me my paycheck. I'm sorry to keep this letter short, but I have millions of papers to sort through with very little time.

With regards,

Gilderoy Lockhart

****

Gilderoy Lockhart

I then sorted through my numerous papers, clearing everything out, though it was mostly mail sent to my corporate address. I also threw away the things I would never look out.

A few hours later, there was a knock at my door as I began to research the Dark Arts.

"Yes?" I asked to the person that was behind the door.

"It's Nina. Mister Lockhart, you've got some new mail," she said as I closed my book, looking at my desk, which had only recently been cleared off.

"Oh...just send it in to my "IN" box, will you?" I asked.

"Okay, Mister Lockhart," she said. She must have left, because there was a "WHOOSH" sound; and I saw my mail in the "IN" box. It was one large manilla envelope from E. E. Guilin. "OPEN THIS RIGHT NOW!" was stamped on it. So I opened it, and out came a credit card labeled "PASSPORT" with my name on it as well.

****

Dear Mister Lockhart,

Is it okay if I call you Gilderoy? Yes? Well, Gilderoy, enclosed in the envelope is a PASSPORT credit card. It can be used anywhere in the wizard world. Please try it out and tell us what you think. We would love to have you onboard.

Also, on a personal note, I just read Midnights with Mermaids. Great book, Gilderoy.

Sincerely,

E. E. Guilin

The note looked like it had been scribbled rather quickly. But I was obviously of great importance to the Passport company. The card was plastic, rectangular, almost flat, and black. My name was engraved in gold. It was rather nice. _But what's my credit limit?_ And thus, I began another letter to E. E. Guilin.

****

Dear E. E. Guilin,

Thank you for the kind gift! I appreciate it very much. I am not used to having credit cards sent to me. By the way, what is my credit limit? I need to know this, as I believe everyone does. And thank you for the comment on Midnights with Mermaids. I'm glad to see you enjoyed it. I will try out my new card.

Thanks,

Gilderoy Lockhart

****

Gilderoy Lockhart

I put the letter in my "IN" box, and it left the room for Nina. I yawned, checking my watch. It was 11:49 AM. I stepped out of my office, noticing Nina snoozing at her desk. It was a slow day, as usual. Nina was also snoring. I put an anti-snoring charm on her and left for lunch.

I walked into the cafeteria of the publishing giant. It was a smelly place, full of very smelly food. You'd think, that with magic, people can make good food. I don't know, but it's just so annoying...

For lunch, you could have potatoes, pork, steak, fried chicken, many fruits, many vegetables, and bread. I smiled to the server, an ugly woman with a hairnet, as I picked French fries and fried chicken.

"Thanks," I said as I put it on my plate. The woman seemed to stare at me with a monstrous gaze.

"Yeah, sure, whatever, pretty boy. Move on." I grabbed myself some lemonade and paid for my meal, before taking a seat at a table by myself. I ate quickly. The chicken felt like rubber, and the fries were horribly burnt. The lemonade tasted like apple juice. I disposed of my plate and left after eating.

I found my way to my office. Nina was still sleeping, soundly however. I almost immediately darted for my bathroom, throwing up the disgusting chicken, French fries, and the mysterious drink into the toilet. I flushed it and left for my study, where I gave myself some food. It was good, delicious, wholesome, satisfying. I then took a nap until five, at which I apparated home.

It was January 30th, six in the evening. I found myself in my bedroom, packing. I packed neatly, with ten pairs of shirts, nine pairs of shorts, two pairs of jeans, three pairs of slacks, extra underwear, extra socks, a pair of tennis shoes, and hygiene items.

_That's it_, I thought, as I zipped up my first suitcase. _Now, I have to pack the bag I'll carry on the plane_. I needed sufficient reading materials, some food (besides peanuts), and a pillow. I do not like to use the pillows other people have previously used. I hate flying on planes. It's so annoying. There's no space on them.

I zipped up my briefcase and set it to the side of my bed, next to my suitcase. Then I prepared the Muggle suit I would wear to New Orleans. I then ate dinner, undressed, showered, and went to sleep at nine. My car would pick me up tomorrow morning at eight.

I awoke at six and showered. I put on the annoying Muggle suit. The tie was tight, but thank goodness I could automatically tie it. Then I carried my suitcase and briefcase to the kitchen and found _The Daily Prophet_. Rita Skeeter had written another front page article again. She is an unstoppable journalism force, I swear. It was an article on the current state of affairs in the Ministry, which looked pretty bad. Of course, it probably wasn't; but that's Rita Skeeter for you.

The car came at 8:02. I was ready, almost too ready to make it out of my house. I had my wallet (already outfitted with the currencies I would need), my passport, my wand in my jacket pocket, and my ticket.

I stepped into the car, ready for the adventure ahead.

_Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed this. It's not as funny as I thought I could make it, but either way I think it's a very enjoyable story. TheMischiefMakers came up with the idea; I asked them a few months ago if I could write it. (Thanks, gals!) I do live in South Louisiana, so...it's rather simple to write...lots of personal experiences will go into the writing of this fic. Expect the next chapter in a few days! And also, I'm going to ask you to please review. Please. Be a responsible reader and review. I review almost every story I read, and I've been the responsible writer by giving you a good story - at least in my opinion. And I do hope you stick around for the rest of this story, because it's going to be a great experience.  
  
And just for the record, this thing isn't in my universe._


	2. Getting Through Customs (Without Cornish...

Mardi Gras with Muggles

Chapter 2: Getting Through Customs (Without Cornish Pixies)

My driver was a small, stout, Caucasian man. "Hello," I greeted after putting my bags in the trunk of the car.

I received no response. The car was black and small, giving me a sense of claustrophobia. I sat in hard brown leather in the back. I had my seatbelt on, of course.

The little man stayed silent, not trying to make conversation. The airport was about and hour away. We passed up the other houses in my neighborhood, all houses of wizards.

We soon left the neighborhood, and I looked back at it. It looked like a bunch of flat grass. "So, what's your name?" I asked my driver. He still said nothing.

"What kind of car are we in? Why aren't you talking to me? Do you know who I am? Are you a tax collector? _Answer me!"_ I received no answer, which further annoyed me. Perhaps he was under some kind of contract not to talk to me. Klerk had done this to me before. (see _Cloning Cornish Pixies_) This was the worst drive I had ever gone on.

We eventually made it to the airport, Heathrow, at 9:30. We had made it through traffic jams, pedestrian crossings, car wrecks, and gone through traffic lights. Though my driver did not talk, I believed he had the necessary skills to be a race car driver. He seemed to be one with the road...it was strange.

"You're here," he said in a very thick Irish accent. "You'll have to go through Customs, then you'll have to wait a while. Thanks." I took my bags, and the car drove off into the London streets. I found myself at a covered concrete walkway, all alone, with two bags in my hand. People passed me up, heading into the airport. Time seemed to pause for me as seemingly thousands walked into the giant airport. I watched them studying their movements as they went inside the automatic doors. Then I followed, heading into the airport.

Wow. The airport was a grand place, full of magnificence. It was amazing, breathtaking. I checked my watch. I spent the next thirty minutes of my time checking out the small airport shops that dominated the place. I first found a little coffee shop. I had some de-caf and bought the London paper. I had a budget of fifty thousand American dollars. I then left the shop and found a bookstore. I scanned the bookstore, but it really didn't have much. It was merely a collection of the latest paperbacks from Tom Clancy, Frederick Forsyth, John Grisham, Danielle Steel, Michael Chrichton, and a group of books by Agatha Christie. I noticed a book entitled _The Day of the Jackal_ by this Forsyth character. It was supposed to be a man that tries to assassinate Charles de Gaulle. I picked the book up off the shelf, right before putting it back on when _The Hunt for Red October_ by the Clancy fellow came to my attention. It sounded interesting, if slightly dumb. I ignored the Danielle Steel novels; they sounded like fluffy romance novels. I was going to judge her books by the cover.

I left the airport bookshop, not buying anything at all. I then found myself in a gift shop, where you could buy footballs with the British flag stamped on them...there were T-shirts, shorts, fake crowns, and other countless, pathetic merchandising items. It's things like these that ruin the integrity of a country. I abruptly left for the store and found a newspaper stand.

There, I could learn about the ghost of Elvis recently seen in a London motel room, discover the diet secrets of Cher, and go behind-the-scenes on _Dallas_, complete with an interview with Larry Hagman. What an opportunity.

It was one I would have to refuse.

I did not buy a paper there at all. I don't know if they were papers at all. They seemed to be writings of fictional things occurring in the lives of celebrities. Oh, one also predicted the end of the world was coming on January 1, 1990, midnight. Prepare yourself.

I then found myself walking towards Customs. Suddenly, there was an announcement on the intercom:

_"Attention! We have received a bomb threat. Please stay calm. Evacuate the area at once. Thank you, and have a nice day."_ Have a nice day? A bomb threat? This was a grave threat; somebody must have known I was there. This was not good. I left the building, fleeing for my life.

There were police cars coming in all areas around the airport. I could see the runway; they were there as well. There was a barrier put around the airport, and we were pushed behind it. I fell back into the crowd as one policeman pushed me into a man behind me.

"Dude! What did you do that for?" asked the man. He had an American accent and was wearing a leather jacket, ear muffs, and jeans.

"I was pushed!" I yelled at the rude man. The man nodded and put on sunglasses.

"It's okay; be cool. Isn't it cold out here?" the man asked.

"Yes, it's too bloody cold out here," I responded, rubbing my hands together.

"Where you heading?" the man asked.

"New Orleans," I replied. "Mardi Gras."

"The Big Easy, eh? Well, that's pretty cool. I'm going to New York, myself."

"The Big Apple?" I asked.

"There's only one, isn't there?" the man said, laughing. I joined in as well.

"Have you been there before?" I asked. The man shook his head. I went to New York once, when I was a little boy. It was an amazing, if not dirty and filthy, town.

"No, I haven't," the man said. Our conversation stopped there as we were pushed back. I ran into more people as the barrier was moved back even more.

We spent the next hour being calmed by the police as they combed the large airport for any type of explosive device. The police was about four hundred men.

"There is no bomb in the airport! We are sorry for the inconvenience. We would appreciate few lawsuits and kind treatment of all involved in this situation. We gave up our personal lives at this moment to see if we had to save yours. We expect payback in return. Thank you, and have a nice day," came a voice on the intercom.

Almost in unison, the crowed booed. I don't see why. After all, four hundred people combed this airport, giving up everything they had been doing, because of a prank!

"Man," said the man destined for New York. "I missed my flight." The man then paused for a second. "I'll bet it was delayed..." He pushed and shoved his way through the crowd, running back into the airport.

I walked at a slow pace into the airport, enjoying the breeze outside. Okay, it was also almost freezing; but I believed it felt much better than the heated airport. I checked my watch. It was 11:15. I was hungry.

All the airport restaurants were reopening. The fast food places were working overtime as they tried to get food made to feed the hungry crowd that had been standing outside. I stopped at a McDonald's and picked up a hamburger, which was ironically thin, and some fries, which gave me heartburn. I then bought myself some Tums and proceeded to Customs after wolfing down my food. I walked through the large glass doors and found myself in a waiting room.

I turned back, staring at the door. There was the word "CUSTOMS" on the door. I looked at the man dressed in red standing behind the desk, staring at nothing attentively.

"Excuse me," I said to the man as I walked to the desk, "but what do I do from here?" The man looked confused.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"What the heck am I supposed to do?" I asked the man as politely as I could. The man smiled as politely as he could as well.

"Stay calm," he said in a calm voice. "Stay extremely calm and let me help you get out of this situation.

_"Can't you see I'm as calm as possible?"_ I asked the man. He nodded.

"You're extremely calm, Sir–now, where are you going?" he asked in a calm, soothing tone. Perhaps they were trained to deal with situations like these.

"New Orleans," I replied.

"The three o'clock?" he asked. I nodded. "Been delayed to five."

_"What?"_ I asked, staying as calm as possible.

"I'm sorry, Sir, the plane had problems in Paris; but it's on its way here now. Now, could I see your passport?"

"Yes, here." I handed the man my passport as he typed on a computer.

"Well, you're perfectly legal. Now, will you be carrying any bags onto the plane?" the kind man asked.

"Yes, one," I replied.

"Will you be checking any bags?"

"Well, I suppose I should check to make sure they're mine..."

"No, will your other bag be in the cargo hold?" The attendant seemed stressed.

"Um, yes."

"Well, take this tag and fill out the necessary information and attach it to your handle. Then, I'll take your bag," the man said as I filled out the card and put it on my suitcase. I handed it to the man. "Oops!" I stared at the man; my suitcase was in his hand.

"What are you doing in America?" he asked me. I hesitated. Should I tell him the truth.

"Going to Mardi Gras," I answered.

"Do you have family in America?"

"No."

"Are you bringing alcohol to America?"

"No."

"How long do you plan to stay?"

"I come back Ash Wednesday."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Now, you need to go through those glass doors to see security."

_"What?"_

"Perfectly legal procedure, Sir."

"Okay."

I went through the glass doors to security and found a rectangular metallic door frame with a conveyor belt attached to it. A Muggle policeman was sitting behind it, almost asleep.

In front of me was an extremely large man. He had greasy brown hair, not shiny and wonderful like mine. His jeans had more than a few holes in them. His neck was shiny, most likely from the large amount of gold on it.

He began to walk through the frame, right before another policeman I had never noticed stepped into my eyes. "Sir, you need to put all metallic objects in one of these cups on the table," the policeman said. I could not see the obese man's face, but I figured that the policeman did not like it at all.

"I don't feel like it," the man said in a low American accent. I saw the look on the policeman's face, and the policeman agreed, letting the man pass through.

"Go on right ahead..." The man walked through, and I heard an alarm sound. The large man stepped through and was met by another policeman.

"I'm going to have to ask you to remove any metallic objects..."

I removed my watch, setting it into the plastic cup, put my briefcase on the conveyor belt, and walked through the metallic door frame. No alarm went off. Was this normal? I did not voice my opinion.

I took my watch, then my briefcase, hoping no serious harm had been done to it. It had been run through this conveyor belt that had a covering on top of it. A policeman had sat behind it, looking at the covering. I proceeded to the next set of glass doors.

There were five attendants, all behind their own metallic counter. They were all smiling, their teeth almost whiter than mine. I walked up to the one in the center, which was attended by a smiling young man.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to give me your bag," the man said as I handed it to him. He immediately opened it up.

_"What the heck do you think you're doing?"_ I asked him.

"Standard procedure, Sir," he said as he sorted through my books and food. He immediately found a book I had been reading: _The Wizard's Guide to New Orleans_, by Arthur J. Studebaker. "What's this?"

"A book," I replied.

"I've never heard of it."

"You've probably never heard of a lot of books," I said, giving the wisdom I have after my long years of life.

"No offense, but I read every book in the public library before I was thirteen," the man said.

"And where did you live?" I asked the man.

"London."

"Oh. You still probably haven't heard of a lot of books," I reminded the man.

"Whatever."

The man's hand searched through more of my belongings, which I still did not like but had to put up with.

"Take off your jacket," he said. Now this was getting annoying. Take off my jacket? Reveal my secret? _Just calm yourself down, Gilderoy. Remember, they won't think it's a magic wand,_ I told myself.

_Oh yes, they will, Gilderoy!_ another part of me thought. _There going to think it's a magic wand and banish you! You can't let him take your jacket! You're gonna go to a psycho ward!_ Time seemed to freeze as I looked at my shoulder. It was almost like an angel was sitting on it, and he had good hair. Then I saw the devilish side of me...on my other shoulder. His hair was bad, shaped like horns. His grin was very mischievous.

_Don't listen to him, Gilderoy! It's perfectly normal for them to check peoples' jackets! Just be calm and do as I say!_ my angel self told me. I thought for a moment.

_Gilderoy, don't! Do the old "now you see 'em, now you don't" trick! Disappear...and fast! Wipe their memories out, too...you'll have to. Just reminding you._ My devilish side was definitely starting to appeal to me. It would be simple: wipe some minds, insert new memories, and scram. But what if it backfired?

_It can always backfire, Gilderoy! Don't let it happen. You're already here, no need to make it worse. Just stick to the plan. The Ministry doesn't enforce magic in Muggle areas._ My angelic side had a good point.

SCREW THE MINISTRY! They have no right to search your bags. You're Gilderoy Lockhart, remember? And people have no need to search Gilderoy Lockhart's jacket OR his bags! Your angelic side is getting too influential, Gilderoy. I swear...

Look, you gave them your bag. Might as well give 'em your jacket, too. My angelic side was losing the fight.

_Angel, you're losing the fight. YOU LOSE!_ my devilish side yelled in my mind.

_God, I give up. You're on your own Gilderoy. I had faith in you, but I guess you're no different than anyone else..._ And with that, my angelic side disappeared with a "POOF" sound, turning to gray smoke.

_YES! I win! Now, perform the charm and get this over with_. My devilish side disappeared into fire and left my shoulder as well. His final words were, "I'll always be in your thoughts..." Scary thought, to say the least.

"I need your jacket, Sir," the man said. I pulled out my wand.

"You don't need my jacket," I said, grabbing my bag.

"What are you talking about? I must search your jacket! Don't make me–whoa! Here, take your bag. Have a nice day."

_You go boy!_

I stepped out of that room into the next room. Well, it wasn't a room. It was a hallway. I was now out of Customs. Thank God.

The hallway was large and shiny. The floors matched the color of the walls. There were international flags on the rafters. The U.S. flag and the British flag were the largest, hanging in the center side by side. I could almost imagine a grand musical score playing in the background as I stepped in.

Wait, I wasn't imagining it. There was a small band playing in the corner. Well, they were marvelous. A grand entrance for a grand man, if you ask me. But don't take my word for it.

I checked my watch. It was 12:00. Apparently, McDonald's can give you heartburn. I stopped in a small shop and bought myself some Rolaids, took two, and stopped at a restaurant: the Flight Club.

"Hello, Sir. Are you part of the Flight Club?" the man at the large (and also glass) door said to me.

"No," I responded. "I just need some good food. Can I get that here?" The old man laughed.

"In my opinion, yes. I believe you will like it. But you have to be a member," the old man said. His voice had a hint of a French accent in it.

"I'm not a member," I said in a calm tone, "but I would like to eat." The French man laughed.

"You've got to be a member."

"Okay, I'm joining," I replied.

"It's invitation only."

"That sucks," I said.

"It certainly does. I'm not even a member," the Frenchman said. He laughed a loud French laugh.

I left, rather angry at the whole situation. My reputation was not preceding me. That's one of the things I hate about the Muggle world.

I scanned the area for another restaurant, finding a pizza place. There was one called Planetary Pizza. There was a television on the wall; on it was a sports channel. There were some highlights from an indoor football game.

"Yeah!" said one onlooker. _"Go Enforcers!"_ The man had a beer in his hand. The bar was dimly lit. The only beverage seemed to be beer. The only food seemed to be pizza.

I didn't mind a bit.

"What'll you have?" the bartender asked. I looked at the menu on the wall, seeing the various types of pizza and almost infinite types of alcoholic beverages. Apparently they served vodka, too. The man sitting next to me was drinking vodka.

_"Go Enforcers!"_ he yelled. The Enforcers were the most popular team in the country. They also proved to be a popular point in bars.

"I'll have three slices of pepperoni and a Bud," I said. The bartender smiled.

"Sure thing," he said as he poured me a Bud. He handed it to me and got my three slices. I ate slowly, watching the football action on the television. Number 8 scored three goals, a hat trick. They were all shown in a quick montage.

I left after an hour, my vision slightly blurred. I do not like to drink, but I had to make an exception in that case. I found my gate and sat down in a chair. I dozed off.

My vision was restored as I woke up. More than a few people had arrived during my nap.

"Did you see _A Fish Called Wanda_?" asked a woman to a man across from me.

"No, I haven't," the man said.

"It was very funny," the woman said with a smile on her face.

"I'll bet," the man said with a monotone in his voice.

I yawned and stretched. I was not tired at all. But why did I yawn? Ah, it is one of life's questions that will never be answered.

I sat there for about thirty minutes as I waited for the plane. The plane was not there. I was getting paranoid.

I got up from my seat and walked (rather angrily) to the counter that is at every gate.

"May I help you, Sir?" asked the kind woman in an Air World uniform. She had a very annoying pleasantness around her.

_"Where's the plane to New Orleans?"_ I asked her.

"It was delayed two hours, Sir." I sighed with relief. I had not missed my flight, but I had to wait another two hours in this boring place.

"Why was it delayed?" I asked.

"Bad weather in Paris."

_"Where does Paris fit into this situation?"_ I asked the attendant. Paris was a long way from New Orleans and London.

"The plane was coming from Paris, Sir."

"Oh," I said, dumbfounded. I walked away, slightly embarrassed yet satisfied with my answers and set off to that bar once more.

Thirty minutes later, I walked out of the bar, having eaten five slices without a drink. I found a lemonade stand and immediately bought a large. Hey, it didn't make me drunk. My mouth was relieved. Then I stepped into the bathroom and answered Nature.

I stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later and found another seat at my gate. I watched the action outside on the runway, waiting for my flight.

"All going on Flight 3789 nonstop to New Orleans: boarding has begun. Have a nice day."

I immediately sprung from my seat and headed for the gate, which was across the carpet. I found myself at the end of the line, knowing I had a first class ticket.

And the line began to move...

_Author's Note: I hope you liked this...the third chapter's going to be posted soon...and the fourth...and however many more there shall be. The third one...well, I can't ruin it, can I? This chapter had some really good stuff in it...I can't think of anything to say besides I do have a paperback copy of _The Day of the Jackal_ and _The Hunt for Red October_. I've only read _The Hunt for Red October_. I really want you to review this. REVIEWERS RULE!_


	3. An Airplane, a DeLorean, and a Public Ba...

Mardi Gras with Muggles

Chapter 3: An Airplane, A DeLorean, and a Public Bathroom

The line moved quickly. I found myself giving my ticket to the same woman I had previously yelled at before walking through a covered walkway connected to the plane.

"Have a nice day," she had said. What was with that? Was it their slogan? It annoyed me to the highest possible level of annoyance, which I will not name.

I entered the airplane. It's large, but it's also rather skinny. A very claustrophobic feel to it. I ducked my head as I searched for my seat in first class.

My seat was a large leather chair. Hopefully, it wasn't one of those cheap leather, uncomfortable, chairs. The entire front of the plane was two rows consisting of pairs of these leather seats. There was adequate room for your feet and belongings, and you could put your belongings in storage bins on the top. I sat down at my window seat, looking out upon the airport.

There were baggage handlers loading luggage into the plane, and I could spot mine being loaded onto the conveyor belt. It was thrown on in the most violent of manners. I was mad, but I knew there was no way to voice my complaint to the idiot doing this. It seemed he was doing that to everybody's bag. Perhaps it was the norm.

Either way, it was a very low norm.

A few minutes later, a young man walked into the seat next to me. He looked oddly familiar. Perhaps it was the fact that he was the man I had met while waiting for the airport to get checked for a bomb.

"I thought you were going to New York..." I said to him, lost in words.

"My ticket said New Orleans!" he said in a happy voice. "I guess I never noticed it...I was talking to my parents, and they told me I wasn't going to New York and was never going to New York...it's a long story."

"Don't tell it to me," I snapped as he shoved his backpack under his seat.

"Cool," he said with his head under the seat. It was an odd effect. His head popped up and hit the seat in front of him, which was tilted back.

"God, they're gonna tell you to put your seat in an upright and locked position, you son of a..." he said, continuing on into a stream of curses. I put my hand on his lap. "Get your..."

"Calm down," I whispered into his ear, putting my hand off his lap. He nodded and kicked the seat in front of him, which had still not been put up. "That's leather. Don't kick it."

"I don't want that seat down; it shouldn't be down anyway." He stopped kicking it and tapped the man's shoulder.

"Put your seat up please," he said nicely. There was no response. My companion looked over the seat. "That idiot...he's sleeping." He found the button that controlled the seat and pushed it, causing the seat to go up. He then sat back in his chair.

"All done," he announced.

"What is your name?" I asked the man. The man coughed.

"George," he said. "George Patton."

"Gilderoy Lockhart," I said, shaking the man's hand.

"That's the weirdest name I've ever heard."

"Well, suit yourself. Where I come from, I'm rather famous," I said, priding myself on my many accomplishments. George shrugged.

"Never heard of you," he said. "But maybe that's because I'm American."

"What were you doing in London?" I asked George. George sighed.

"I just moved to London; I work for the United States Army," George said. "Great job."

"I can imagine," I said. If a war came soon, this Patton chap could be dead.

"What do you do for a living that makes you so famous?" George asked.

"I'm a writer," I said. George nodded.

"Don't read much myself..." Our conversation stopped at that point as we were interrupted by a voice on the intercom.

"We are now preparing for departure. Please pay attention to the following safety instructions..." We then learned all about what would happen if we would have to crash.

"...and remember, make sure your tray table is up and your seat is in the upright locked position. Wear your seatbelt. Don't smoke. Have a nice day." And with that, the plane began to speed at speeds that were not safe in a regular car.

The plane began to tilt up, and suddenly we were in the air. My ears began to pop. George was chewing on something.

"What are you chewing on?" I asked him, my ears popping like there was not tomorrow.

"Gum," he replied. "Want a piece?" He held his hand out, and I could see one stick of spearmint gum.

"Sure," I replied, unwrapping it and chewing on it. My ears stopped popping madly. I nodded as I looked out the window, seeing the airport from the sky. I felt like I could touch the little airport with my hands, play with it like a toy. Of course, that would not exactly be manly of me, would it?

I yawned and checked my watch. This would be a very long flight. I put my seat down, tried to relax, and found myself staring at a very large woman.

"Get your..." Almost immediately, my seat went up to the point in which it could not go up more. I sighed and pulled my tray table down, resting my hands on it as George began to tell me the story of his life.

"...and when I was three, I stuck a gun at my dog's head and blew his head off!" That's just one of the highlights from his violence filled life. Perhaps he enjoyed it...

The steward came by and offered me a drink. "I'll have a tequila!" was George's response.

"We don't serve that on the plane, Sir," was the reply from the steward.

"What the heck kind of plane doesn't serve tequilas?" asked George.

"This one, Sir. I can offer you a beer..."

"Vodka?" George asked.

"Afraid we don't have that either..." said the steward. George pulled the steward forward and whispered in his eye. "Sure thing, Mister Zemeckis! I just love that _Back to the Future_ movie...and _Used Cars_..._1941_ is a great one, too. Hey, I heard a rumor that you're making two more. Care to comment?"

"Yeah," George–or this elusive Mister Zemeckis–said. "We're gonna make at least two more; and Eric Stoltz will be in it, too."

"Cool! I must say, I've been dying to get hold of that footage with Stoltz since I found out about it!" the steward said. Who was Eric Stoltz?

"Yeah, well, you just may see it..." George said.

"Great...maybe he'll get hold of the time machine and reenact every scene in the first one..." the steward said, his eyes wide with admiration.

"Is there an in-flight movie?" George asked. The steward nodded.

"You won't believe what it is..."

"What?" I asked, hoping to break the conversation that was interrupting my life.

"_Back to the Future,"_ was the response from the steward. This was just great. "It starts in two hours! God, I love that move..."

I could tell. The steward went on about the theories of time travel, how magical the cinematic moment of Marty McFly singing "Johnny, Be Good" at the high school dance was.

"Hey, don't ruin the movie for me," I said as the steward talked began talking about how he had tried to make a flux capacitor.

"It's been an honor meeting you, Mister Zemeckis...I hope I see you again. I want a sequel! Two, even!" And with that, the steward left. For the moment.

"I'll keep your comments in mind," George said. George laughed. "I love DeLoreans..."

"What is a DeLorean?" I asked. George smiled.

"It's the coolest car on the planet. Silver, doors that go up...I wish I had one," George said. I frowned, thinking of a junky car with doors that flew up with wings. It definitely did not sound like the coolest car in the world to me.

I spent the next two hours looking out the window. I did not listen to a single word George said to me. It felt great.

"Our in-flight feature _Back to the Future_ will be starting in just a few minutes. Please do not make noise as the movie plays. Thank you, and have a nice day.

Suddenly, I noticed a screen in the front of the airplane and began to experience the wonderful cinematic masterpiece that is _Back to the Future._ It's the adventures of Marty McFly...oh, it was wonderful. I could go on for pages about every little detail in the movie, and the film just screams for a sequel...all I have to say is wow.

"Cool car," George said to me after it was done. I smiled.

"You bet," I said. "I wouldn't mind a flux capacitor either."

"If I had a time machine, I could go meet my folks in New Orleans instead of traveling on this stupid plane. Last time I was on a plane, it crashed...can you believe that? I didn't even get a refund. Can you believe that? We're flying over the ocean...and the plane drops...then we're in water deeper than I like to be in...Jesus, it sucked. Can you believe it? I can't think of a worse situation to be in...I mean, come on! Then the guy next to me was too fat to get out of his seat...I nearly died waiting for him to get out...I was ticked off, that's what I was..." George said, carrying on about the two hours he spent in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. It sounded like a horrible experience. I would never get into a horrible experience like that.

The plane was a futile exercise in boredom. On one hand, I had a constantly talking George Patton. On the other hand, I had a steward that thought George was Robert Zemeckis, the director of _Back to the Future_. I had stopped paying any attention at all to my watch. At some point on the very boring plane ride, George went to the bathroom and dinner was served while he was there. Just as reading this chapter is an exercise in boredom, the rest of my plane ride was as well. (Do you want to hear the details of my dream? I didn't think so. You do? Well, you'll have to miss out since I forgot all about it.)

I arrived at the New Orleans airport some hours later, well into the next morning. Thankfully I had slept the entire last half of the plane ride. I looked around my gate, searching for a sign that said "LOCKHART."

I found my answer, in a large man watching the television. Tacked to his briefcase was the word "LOCKHART."

Archie Delis. He looked the same as the time I met him drunk at the Minister's party nine years ago.

"Archie," I said as I walked toward my old friend. Archie stretched out, apparently not noticing me. Hopefully he was doing that on purpose; it would be very tough communicating with a deaf guide.

"Archie!" I said, slapping my hand on his shoulder.

"What do you want?" he said as he turned around. "The weather report's–"

"It's me!" I said, smiling a bright smile. My face must have been to bright for him to look at directly, because he immediately covered his face. Certainly peculiar behavior.

" 'It's me' who?" Archie asked. It seemed almost childish.

"Gilderoy Lockhart!"

Archie coughed and turned back around, watching the weather report. "It's over. You made me miss the freaking weather report! How the heck am I supposed to know whether or not it's gonna rain tomorrow?" The day was February 1st. The time: 9:00 AM, New Orleans time.

"Can't you watch it at home?" I asked.

"Do you know what it's like getting your fan mail forwarded to me? Thank God it's not by owl; the neighbors would think we were crazy! God! I don't know how you can take fame, Mister Lockhart..." Archie said, smiling while he got up and gave me a quick hug. "Long time no see, my friend..."

"Too many letters, old chap...are we going to a parade today?" I asked.

"Are you crazy? Jesus, I wanted to give you a break, let you settle down; and all you care about is Mardi Gras! You're crazy, if you ask me," Archie said with a bizarre mix of a southern and British accent.

"Well, it's called fame; and I happen to like it," I said. Archie nodded.

"You know what? I spent many years spying on those evil mastermind type guys that absolutely want fame. And they'll achieve it however they want. It's insane, and it drives them to insanity. Fame is a bad thing, if you ask me..." Archie said, delivering one of his monologues on the subject of fame. We'd had this conversation before. Perhaps the fact that he'd been a spy influenced him somewhat.

"Whatever you say, Archie..." He laughed, and we left the gate. "Do I have to go through Customs again?"

"Of course, Gilderoy! You think you can get off just like that? Well, guess what?"

"What?"

"You can't."

"I can get past them..." I said. Archie shook his head.

"I get a message about that stunt you pulled in London at Customs. Rather stupid. Don't do it. You're here to socialize with Muggles, make friends, go to Mardi Gras..." Archie reminded me. He coughed and stopped next to the bathroom.

"Go," he said. "Did you go on the plane?"

"Yes."

"Well, go again," Archie said, pointing to the bathroom.

"I don't have to go. I'll go at your place," I said.

"You need to go here," Archie said.

"Why? It's a public bathroom! Probably gross and disgusting if you ask me..."

Archie sighed. "We could get in a traffic jam...so go use that confounded thing now!"

"On one condition," I said.

"What?" Archie asked, obviously very ticked off at my reluctance to gain some type of disease from a public bathroom.

We walked into the bathroom, and I was surprised to see there was no door. It was a curvy walkway leading into the bathroom. We stepped in, carrying our baggage. I stepped into a stall and answered Nature.

I heard Archie get in front of my stall as I began the process of...well, you know. Excretion.

"Dude, can you move so I can get in the stall?" asked a man with a voice very similar to that of Biff's on _Back to the Future_.

"I'm just waiting for a friend that's in the stall...maybe you could go to the next one?" Archie suggested with a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

"They're all taken, butt head. Tell your friend to hurry up," the man said.

"Gilderoy, you heard the man. Get out of the stall," Archie said. I was going as fast as I could.

"I'm trying!" I grunted as I finished and cleaned up. "Let me out!" The door opened, and I fell to the floor. The large man stormed into the stall and slammed it shut.

"Wash your hands," said an old man above me. I got up, taking my briefcase with me. I washed my hands and stepped out with Archie.

"That guy sure was anxious to go," I said. Archie nodded.

"I could have sworn the one next to you was empty, Gilderoy. I don't know...maybe it was his lucky stall or something," Archie said, wiping his nose. "Certainly odd behavior."

"Reminded me a lot of Biff," I said.

"Biff?" Archie asked.

"Biff! You know, from _Back to the Future!"_

Archie nodded. "Yeah, I remember that movie. Good flick. Entertaining, to say the least."

"Whatever. Where do I get my other bag? My suitcase," I said.

"You've got to go through Customs again; there's a baggage claim there," Archie answered.

"Baggage claim?" I asked, confused. "Shouldn't they already know the baggage is mine?"

"No, Gilderoy. You just have to get your bag off the carousel," Archie said.

"The carousel? You mean one of those huge things at fairs with horses that go up and down? I thought Muggles were weird, but this–"

"You really are insane, Gilderoy. Jesus, it's just a carousel, a conveyor belt. Don't go crazy," Archie said as we found Customs, which looked a lot like the one in London. "Now don't go playing any tricks. I'll meet you on the other side." And with that, I headed into Customs; and my companion disappeared.

To sum it all up, Customs was a pointless rehash of my previous experiences with it in London, just without the workers losing some of their memories.

After waiting almost forever for my suitcase, I left Customs, finding Archie outside the door. "I've got to take you to the Holiday Inn," Archie said. "Why do you want to stay at a hotel again?"

"Well, I don't want to disturb you and your wife..." I said. Archie laughed.

"Like you're going to! My wife _hates_ Mardi Gras. And I mean it, too. You can stay at my place; she's visiting her mother. But if you want to stay at the hotel and blow off money, you can. Just warning you though: I can't cook," Archie said. I still couldn't get over his hybrid accent.

"Actually, I sort of like staying in hotels...room service and all." We were walking out of the airport. Seemingly hundreds of cars were waiting outside; most of them were taxis or buses.

"Suit yourself," Archie said. "I did give you the better–not to mention free–deal. But as I said, fame has a horrible effect on people..."

"Whatever."

"Hey, we gotta catch a bus to get to my parking lot," Archie said, pointing me in the direction of a bus. "It was cheaper."

We got into the small white bus, and there was no one else in it. "Hey," said the bus driver. There was some static on the radio and some words I didn't catch. The driver began a stream of curses.

"Hey, calm down," Archie told the man.

The driver slammed the wheel, yelling a certain curse word that starts with an "F." He continued yelling it.

_"Stop!"_ I yelled as a little boy began getting in the bus. The boy's father (or at least it appeared to be) slapped the driver.

"Don't do that in the presence of my family again! This has happened more than once...I thought you were reported!"

The bus driver laughed, smiling a smile that had maybe two teeth. "They didn't give a..." the driver began, cursing out the father. Immediately, Archie got up and handled this.

"Somebody needs to wash your mouth out nice and long with soap," Archie told the driver. The driver showed Archie his middle finger on his right hand.

"That's extremely rude," Archie said in his calmest manner. The driver then showed Archie his other middle finger as well. I couldn't take this any longer.

I rose up from my seat and stood next to Archie. "Should I take out my wand?" I whispered to Archie.

"No," he whispered back. "Do you have any ideas?"

"Yeah," I said. "Stand back." I eyed the rude bus driver nervously. "Get the family at the end of the bus." Archie did as he was told.

"So, you like having those two fingers where they are?" I asked the bus driver. " 'Cause I can make them stay there."

"What are you talking about?" the bus driver said. "I'll take you on..." The bus driver stood up, his fingers in my face.

"You really those fingers, don't you?" I asked. The driver nodded.

"You tryin' to be funny?" the driver asked me, turning his head up and down.

"No, not at all. I'm being serious here," I said. The driver's fingers were almost in my eyes. "I would appreciate it if you moved those fingers out of my face."

"Would you like it if they were fists?" I was asked. More people got on the bus.

"Can't we just go?" I asked.

"Schedule says we have to leave in fifteen minutes," the bus driver said. His fingers stayed in the same place.

"Would you please move your fingers out of my face?" I asked politely, my tone not growing louder, unlike the bus driver's.

"Stop treating me rudely," he said.

"Why don't you?" I said. He removed his fingers from my face. They became fists.

_You cannot use your wand, _I told myself, thinking about resorting to the easy way.

"You started this," he reminded me. After all, I did yell at him to stop cursing when the child came on.

"You provoked me," I said, smiling.

"What does that mean?" the bus driver asked me.

"Get a dictionary," I said.

"Stop being smart," the bus driver said. I could see the amount of intelligence he had in him.

"Get a high school diploma," I said. That was it for the bus driver. He swung the first punch. I blocked it, twisting his arm. Then he kicked me. I fell to the floor of the bus, clutching my stomach.

"You're gonna die..."

_Author's Note: Well, I know you had to have enjoyed this...please! I think this chapter was really great, a good experience. And I even give you a little cliff hanger. As for Chapter 4, I don't know when it'll be up. Hopefully, it'll be up fast. I'm working on it as I post this...I promise he'll actually go to a few parades.  
  
And as for that "Get a high school diploma" line, don't you like that? It would be my wish for that line to be quoted forever and ever...review please! Please? Please? And if you want to suggest this story to a friend, please do so...not many readers AT ALL. Thanks and review._


	4. The Mighty Jungle

Mardi Gras With Muggles

Chapter 4: The Mighty Jungle

"Please don't do that," I said, rather scared. The bus driver punched me in my face. I kicked his shin, and the driver fell to the ground. The seemingly insane man jumped to his feet as I hobbled up.

"Don't make fun of my education again." He punched me in the stomach, sending me back a few steps. Archie shoved me aside and nailed him in the face.

"I don't need this," he said to the driver. "Clean up your act." The driver shook his head and showed him the finger for an instant. Then it changed to a fist that was in his face.

Archie fell to the ground, clutching his face. I launched a roundhouse kick at the driver, who twisted it. I flipped and fell to the floor. With my concealed wand, I healed the ankle and threw myself back up.

"How? What?" said the bus driver as I punched him in the stomach before pushing him to the front of the bus.

"It's been almost fifteen minutes," I told the man as I lifted him up and stared at him. "Don't kick me."

Immediately, the crazy bus driver tried to kick me in my groin. I turned around and threw him to the back of the bus.

"Do you," I asked as I walked up to him, "have a criminal record?" The bus driver looked at me rather blankly.

"No," he said. "I got away with my crimes." I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Well, you haven't anymore. Archie, call the police." Archie immediately ran to a pay phone as the bus driver tackled me. I was on the floor as he jumped on top of me.

_"Freeze!"_ said a voice with high authority. The driver kept punching me, cursing at me. I turned my head around, seeing the police officer. The officer's gun was between the driver and me.

"Sir, whoever you are, you've found the most dangerous criminal in the city," the officer said. "Top of our Most Wanted List." I seem to have a strange thing about running into deadly criminals. Don't get me started on my experiences.

"That's great," I said, scared out of my wits. The police officer picked the driver up. The driver showed us his lovely middle fingers as he was taken off the bus.

"My partner will drive you to the parking lot," the police officer said as he took the driver off the bus. A large man eating a donut stepped onto the bus.

"Get in your seats; I've never driven one of these before." Suddenly, we were out of the covered area, into the roads out of the airport. The bus swerved as an oncoming taxi nearly ran into us.

Horns were honked as curses flew as our driver struggled to keep the bus in control. He made a wide turn onto the street.

"Okay, where's this parking lot?" he asked, holding his hat as he looked back.

"Behind you!" shouted a man in the back.

"No!" The car made a U-turn and headed the other way. We dodged a police car in the middle of the road and a man on a bike.

The man on the bike then cursed us out. I wonder if all of New Orleans is like this. It must be Louisianan.

Or French.

Or Spanish.

Either way, I figured it must be rooted in the roots of New Orleans's past. Perhaps it was American.

We turned into the parking lot the way regular cars do and not the bus. There was some trouble at the gate, caused by our driver's stupidity and his fondness for donuts; he dropped one on the guard.

"There's my car!" Archie said almost the moment we turned into the lot. I saw a red pickup truck covered with dried mud.

"Is that–"

"Old Maria? Yeah. Still have her after those long nine years. Best truck in the world," Archie said as we got off the bus.

"Sorry for the trouble," said the police officer.

"I've seen worse," I said.

"Yeah, right." The bus drove off, spraying water in our faces.

"Nice of them, don't you think?" Archie asked me as we got into the car. He wiped the water of his face and turned the truck on, then backed it up.

"Don't run into anything," I said. I was expecting him to immediately run into some kind of car, but he just ran over a stick.

"Here we go!" Archie said as he turned on the radio. It was an oldies station.

_"Surrender to the void..."_ Archie began to sing in his horrible singing voice, no doubt caused by his odd accent. "Come on, sing along!"

"I hate this song," I said to Archie as he continued singing.

_"Is it not right? Is it not right?_ Come on, Gilderoy, sing along!"

"No," I answered once more.

"Thanks for listening to WOLD, home of the Oldies in New Orleans. Keep listening, we've got more Beatles songs coming up! And more coming up on the hour; we've got contests galore. Now first for an announcement..."

"Love that sation," Archie said as we pulled out of the parking lot. I stared at him blankly.

"You like the Beatles too much," I told him.

"And you've got a soft spot for Woody Allen films," he said.

"Your point?" I asked him as Archie said.

"Woody Allen sucks," Archie said quickly.

"You're screwed up in the head," I told Archie.

"I've known that for a long time. Blame it on the Ministry, my friend. It's not my fault I was a spy," Archie said.

"Yes, it is," I told him.

"I was drafted into the military."

_"What?"_ I asked, not knowing this fact about his live that forever changed my view of him.

"You think I wanted to be in the military? No, I didn't! I wanted to be a freaking writer! I wanted to write some novels, live the easy life. But I guess I don't get to now," Archie said.

We turned into the hotel parking lot. Archie stopped the truck at the front.

"You got money?" he asked as I stepped out.

"Yes," I said.

"Need me to help you with anything?" Archie asked. I shook my head.

"I can do this." Archie drove off, and water splashed on my suit. _Hope they have a dry cleaner..._

I stepped into the giant glass doors (which I consider to be an architectural requirement in large buildings) and found myself in a small lobby.

"Welcome to the Holiday Inn at the Airport. How may I help you, Sir?" asked a woman behind a desk built into the wall.

"I need to get my room," I said as I walked to the desk.

"Do you have a reservation?" she asked as I stepped up to the counter.

"Yes," I said.

"Name please?" she asked.

"Lockhart. Gilderoy Lockhart."

"Thank you," she said as she entered my name in the computer. "How do you spell that?"

"G-I-L-D-E-R-O-Y, space, L-O-C-K-H-A-R-T. Okay?"

"Thank you, Mr. Gilderoy Space Lockhart Okay," she said.

"What?"

"That is your name isn't it?"

"No, it's just Gilderoy Lockhart," I said. The woman nodded and entered my name.

"Room number 313. Upstairs, on the third floor." She handed me my key, and I was on my way.

I stepped into my room, putting the key in the lock and unlocking it. I hoped it was nonsmoking.

Immediately, I felt the wrath of air conditioning in my face, blowing back my tie and jacket. I set my bags in the small closet covered by a mirror and turned the air conditioning down. Light flooded in the large windows as I saw the exotic view of a street. I shut the curtains and jumped on the bed after taking off my shoes. I stretched out and relaxed.

Then I turned on the television. There were some news reports, some cartoons, a sitcom rerun...all boring. I flicked the television off and continued reading my book.

That afternoon, at around 4:00, I received a telephone call.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Gilderoy, it's Archie."

"Oh, hey, Archie. What are you calling me for? I have all my stuff," I said. I could hear Archie's television in the background.

"Oh, yeah. Anyway, I have an invitation for something I figure you may be interested in..." Archie said. I heard the rustling of some papers on the other end.

"What is it?" I asked.

"An invitation," Archie said once more. "An invitation for a Mardi Gras ball."

"What?" I said, confused. What was a Mardi Gras ball?

"It's like a formal gathering of a Mardi Gras Krewe as they introduce their theme and members and all. I got an invitation from a friend, and I wasn't planning to go. But seeing that you're here, I guess we might as well go there," Archie explained.

"Oh," I said. "When do we leave?"

"It's tomorrow. You might want to get that suit cleaned up; it's black tie," Archie said.

"I can take care of that...will you be going to any parades?" I asked Archie.

"Tomorrow...I can't go. Tomorrow night, I'll be able to go to the ball though. You can do some research and apparate to a parade if you like, though I suggest you find one in the morning. You'll want a break between the parade and the ball," Archie said. "There's probably some kind of schedule of parades in your room. Look around. Call me later when you find one. And it will get crazy out there, Gilderoy, trust me."

"Well, thanks, Archie. I'll go to a parade tomorrow morning. I think I can see a schedule over there. Talk to you later."

"Bye," Archie said.

"Bye." I hung up the phone and picked up the schedule. There was one parade on the schedule for tomorrow morning...

I woke up the next morning, a Thursday. Mardi Gras was the next Tuesday.

_What should I wear?_ Well, I decided to put on a West Ham football shirt and some khaki shorts. I slipped on a pair of white socks, a cap, and my tennis shoes, then apparated away to the Krewe of Hercules parade.

Apparation is a sickening process. It's undescribable, but I'm about to attempt to describe it for the uninitiated right now. It starts with the spell, then your stomach turns. The G-forces press against you; you are unable to move any part of your body for the split second you travel across time and space.

Then suddenly, the moment you return to reality, it's gone. Every pain you went through in the process is gone. You're back to normal now. Though some claim there is a slight dizzying to the process...personally, my advice is to not apparate long distances. Your definition of long distance may be different then mine, though.

I found myself in a crowded, narrow street. There were some parade goers there. Not many though.

"Here for the parade?" asked a man I had nearly apparated into. He was not someone I wanted to share my DNA with.

"Yes," I said. "Are you?"

"Yeah, I am. Parade's gonna be here in thirty minutes. Beginning of the parade's always the best, eh?"

"I wouldn't know. First time," I said.

"First time...well, it is the best time, depending on whose parade it is. Some Krewes give out the best stuff at different times. But this one...it gives out the best stuff all the time. It's like they've got a freaking unlimited supply. Wouldn't surprise me if they were practicing voodoo or something..." the man said.

"Yeah," I said smiling. An unlimited supply...perhaps it was magic, then again, it could just be lots of money and lots of stuff.

About thirty minutes later, the parade came. First was a police car (how ironic, considering my previous experiences) followed by a group of soldiers. Then there was a magnificent float, being pulled by a pickup truck. It was dressed to be like a jungle. On the float was a man with a tiger mask. He threw me a silver doubloon. The Krewe's theme seemed to be "The Mighty Jungle."

Then came a luxury car. In it was an old man and an attractive young woman. What would this woman want from this old geezer?

I saw the side of the car, and noticed the writing on the side:

Miss Jean Thibodaux - Queen 1989

Mr. Billy Bob Boudreaux - King 1989

My question was settled. I wondered how much money it took to be one of these kings or queens. Their clothes seemed very expensive, as did the car.

They threw me another doubloon. I smiled at the young lady, and she smiled back. She also did this to every person in the crowd that smiled at her.

Then came a smaller float with fake exotic trees at every end. The people on it were dressed like various animals that inhabited trees.

"Throw me something, Mister!" yelled some people around me. They received little items. I decided not to put this strategy to use.

"Throw me the goods right now, or I'll blow your float up!" I yelled to the people on the float. Immediately, I received a beverage holder that fit around a canned drink, a giant toothbrush, some nice beads of various colors, and some cheap plastic beads that broke when I tried to pull the pieces of plastic that made the beads fit me apart. I tried another one, softer this time. I found that it worked, but they really were pathetic. I stuffed them in a bag I had made appear.

The next thing I saw was a large marching band, from Houma, Louisiana. They were incredibly large, and their uniforms made the individual members seem incredibly large as well.

They stopped and began to play for us, putting on a small concert for about twenty seconds before moving on.

Next was an almost endless sea of floats. It seemed to last forever. The temperature was almost eighty degrees according to the bank clock across the street. Occasionally, there was a marching band or a group of people that sponsored the parade with a float of their own–usually some kind of open trailer.

The parade gradually became more of a bore, and I did have to stay the entire time because I have to research this for you.

Thanks a lot.

At the end of the parade was a police car, just like at the beginning. The man I had met at the beginning walked up to me.

"God, talk about a disappointment...you'd think that it would have been exciting. I mean, they're usually good. Oh, well. Maybe I'll go check out the end of the route. Rip-off..."

I apparated away to my hotel room.

I picked up the phone the moment I appeared in my hotel room and dialed Archie's number.

"Hello?" Archie said on the other line.

"Hi, Archie, it's Gilderoy."

"Oh, hey! How was the parade?"

"It sucked. Can you believe–" I started to say only to be cut off by Archie on the phone.

"You went to the Hercules parade, didn't you?"

"Yeah," I said. "The schedule listed it as a spectacular spectacle."

"I heard about it. Usually their parades are really good, but I heard they had a much more limited budget this year," Archie said.

"Well, that's for sure. I can see what you mean by Mardi Gras being bored," I told Archie. Archie laughed.

"Oh, well, that's my wife speaking. I actually am pretty fond of it. But of course, that's just me. Did you pay attention to anything other than the floats, Gilderoy?" Archie asked with a hint of laughter in his tone.

"No, not really...what should I have paid attention to?" I asked, confused.

"Oh, there are things..." Archie said, his voice trailing off.

"What things?" I asked.

Archie laughed on the other end. "There are things..."

"What do you mean?" I asked. The other line went dead.

Apparently, I hadn't done exhaustive enough research. I sighed and jumped on my bed.

_What's wrong with me? For God's sake, I can't research good enough! This is not like me at all. I am all-knowing...I should know about this extra stuff to watch out for! Come on! I mean, this isn't like me at all! I've already said this, haven't I? Gosh, this is a crisis...what kind of crisis? I've lost knowledge of crises...this is bad...very bad..._

I got up from my bed and jumped around the room. There was a knock on my door.

I walked up to the door; my face must have looked like a mad dog, drooling on the floor, eyes open and intense.

_"What?"_ The bellhop at the door stared at me with his eyes open.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry, Sir. I apologize for interrupting whatever you're doing, but your jumping and screaming is disturbing those all around you," the bellhop said.

I shoved the bellhop into the wall. "There's nothing wrong! Don't tell me how to run my life!" The bellhop nodded and ran out the way, screaming. A woman peeked her out her door.

"What's with him?" she asked.

"He just didn't take his pills for today, that's all," I said calmly as I walked into my room and closed the door.

"Oh," I heard the woman say.

I picked up the phone and called Archie.

"Hello?" Archie asked.

"Hey, it's Gilderoy," I said.

"Oh, hi!" Archie said. "What's wrong?"

"The ball!" I said. "When is the ball?"

"My car broke down," Archie said. "I'll meet you there. It starts at six."

"How am I supposed to get there?" I asked. "I don't know the address or anything."

"Apparate. I'm sending you over the ticket and the invitation...the address is on there–you can find where it is on one of those New Orleans maps in your hotel room," Archie said as I saw a white piece of rectangular paper appear on my bed. "Is that good?"

"Yeah, sure..." I said.

"Okay, that's great. I'll see you there. Remember, wear–"

"Wear my suit," I said. "I'll keep that in my head. Bye."

"Bye, Gilderoy."

I hung the phone up and opened up the invitation, read it, and then set it down on the small table next to my desk. I watched some television before taking a short nap.

I woke up at 4:00. I yawned and got up from my bed. There was a message on my phone. I played it.

"Hello, Gilderoy, it's R. M. M. Klerk. Just checking in on you. Don't call back; I'll call you later. Bye." I smiled and began my process of preparing for the ball.

First, I cleaned my suit quickly with a dose of "Madame Mona's Dry Cleaning in a Tube." It was not half as good as a regular job, so I cleaned it with some magic as well. Still not as good as a dry cleaning job, but that was just too bad. I showered and got dressed. Then I made my hair nice and shiny and brushed me teeth.

It was 5:00. I had a Mardi Gras ball to go to.

_Author's Note: I hope you liked it! This was by far the sanest chapter of the story...just kidding. Besides, Lockhart getting into a crisis and going mad is not sane. I think that the next chapter will see the return of some stuff from the previous chapters...and combine them all in a cool fifth chapter. And I want to thank everyone whose stuck with this story - you rule! More Mardi Gras insanity coming soon!  
  
And I don't know how to say this, but I love to hear opinions. I don't know if you know how much a review can brighten up your day. Thanks!_


	5. Margaritaville

Mardi Gras With Muggles

Chapter 5: Margaritaville

I smiled to myself as I adjusted my bow tie. I then apparated away to the Huey Long Memorial Auditorium, home of the Krewe of Adonis's Mardi Gras ball.

I found myself behind the auditorium. Two large trucks were behind the auditorium. I walked to the front, nodding to all the people as I went past them.

"Ticket?" asked the man at the front. I searched my pockets. "Where's your ticket?"

"My ticket?" I asked. "Are you sure I need one?"

"Of course you need a ticket! What are you? Insane? I can't let you in this auditorium without a ticket!" the man said as I searched my jacket pocket. He was wearing a suit, just like me.

"What are you anyway?" I asked, stalling. The man stared at me blankly as I took off my shoes and began to search those.

"What are you doing taking off your shoes? Didn't you read the sign? No shoes, no shirt, no service. Or something like that," the man said. I slipped my shoes back on.

"Let me go get my ticket," I said. "It's in my car." The man nodded as I ran out the auditorium.

I looked around as I ran to the back, trying to stay in the shadows of people. It was still daylight outside, and there was plenty light left.

I apparated away to the hotel room behind the auditorium. I found my ticket and went back to auditorium.

"Hello again," said the man at the ticket booth. "Got your ticket?" The man was smiling. I really wanted to rip that smile off his face.

"Yes," I said as I pulled it out of my jacket pocket and handed it to him. The man looked it over.

"Well, it's not a fake..." he said as he ripped part of it off. He then handed the stub back to me and smiled. "Your seat is in the balcony." I walked away from the ticket booth, heading up the stairs. There was a door on the side. On it was the label "BALCONY."

I opened the door, discovering a dark, narrow stairway. It was almost completely vertical. I climbed up and saw a rather empty balcony. I could see one person in it: Archie Delis.

"Hey," I whispered as I sat in my seat next to Archie.

"You got here mighty early," Archie said as my seat began to squeak.

"So did you," I said.

"You've got forty-five minutes till this thing starts," Archie said as he sat back in his chair. I nodded and sat back in my chair as well.

"So, what's the big thing with these balls?" I asked. "I mean, I read about 'em and all; but what's with them? I don't know if I get it. What's the theme? Why must there be a theme?" Archie put his finger over his mouth.

"You see, the theme's usually kept secret till the beginning, when they announce it. Now I say usually, 'cause sometimes it gets out into the open. The royalty's kept secret, too," Archie said.

"Like the king and queen?" I asked.

"Yeah, and everything else."

"I see," I said.

"You'll be seeing a lot more when it actually starts," Archie said. He pointed at the bright tropical balloons decorating the auditorium floor. There was a huge middle section. "I wonder what all that means."

I shrugged. "Perhaps the theme has to do with balloons," I suggested. Archie shook his head.

"They did that last year: Balloon Animals. Didn't exactly pump the crowd," Archie said. I tried to imagine people dressed like balloon animals, but I couldn't. It was sad.

"I see," I said. "What was the king dressed like?"

"The king and queen were dressed like balloon vendors. Typical, huh?" Archie said.

"The captain?"

"A dog. You should see all the things they had: elephants, hippos, mosquitos, cats..." Archie said. It seemed just too insane.

"Well, it must have taken them tons of money," I said.

"Actually, it was the cheapest ball they ever put on," Archie replied.

"Why?" I asked.

"Spandex."

It was 6:00. The lights had gone dim a few minutes ago. "It's starting," Archie said as two spotlights danced on the curtains.

_"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 1989 Krewe of Adonis Mardi Gras Ball!"_ said a voice on the intercom. "But first, before we start, let's have a sing-along."

Archie and I looked at each other, confused–well, we couldn't see our faces; but you get the idea.

Tropical music began to play. I could almost sense Archie concentrating. "I know this song," he said. "I know this song."

I could hear excited whispers in the crowd.

"Margaritaville!" Archie exclaimed. I remembered this song.

_"Nibblin' on sponge cake...watchin' the sun bake. All of the tourists covered in oil. Sturmmin' my six-string...on my front porch swing. Smell those shrimp...they're beginnin' to boil..._

"Wastin' away again in Margaritaville! Searchin' for my lost shaker of salt. Some people say that there's a woman to blame. But I know...it's nobody's fault..."

And off we sang, singing Jimmy Buffet's "Margaritaville."

"Was that enough?" asked the announcer as we finished. We did not seem to think so. There was some upbeat music playing, and we launched into the next song:

_"She came down from Cincinnati. It came took her three days on a train. Lookin' for some peace and quiet...hoped to see the sun again._

"But now she lives down by the ocean. She's takin' care to look for sharks! They hang out in the local bars, and they feed right after dark...

"Can't you feel 'em circlin', honey? Can't you feel swimmin' around? You got fins to the left, fins to the right; you're the only girl in town!"

The crowd had already launched into a dance, which consisted of putting your hands on top of your head in a fin shape and moving to the left and right.

The crowd did not seem to think this was enough. They then sang "Volcano" before the announcer quit on them.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to get started. Please remain quiet. Now, as you may see, this year's theme is a tribute to Jimmy Buffet. Ladies and gentlemen, may we now start the 1989 Krewe of Adonis Ball, with the theme of Margaritaville!" the announcer said. The crowd remained in a state of silence.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are having technical problems. Please–" the announcer's voice was cut off. The crowd went bonkers. There was screaming everywhere. The lights flickered on and off.

"What's going on?" I asked Archie. Perhaps this was normal for the Krewe of Adonis.

"The sound's gone bad, and the lights are going on and off. What does it look like?" Archie said.

A spotlight centered to a figure on the stage. The man had a megaphone in his hand.

"Hello," he said. "I'm the technical advisor here, and our sound system is down. The lighting was just to warn you that we're taking a break. We're working on the sound right now. In about thirty minutes, we'll tell you if it's up or not. If it's not, we do have a backup stereo; or we'll just use this megaphone. Please do not sue us, and we apologize for any inconvenience."

"That just sucks," Archie said. "What a waste. You wanna leave? The tickets were free."

"Let's wait," I said. "It's bound to be fixed."

Archie nodded as the lights came back on. "It still sucks," he said.

Thirty minutes later, the lights flickered and turned off. "The sound has been fixed," said the announcer. "Welcome, once more, to the Krewe of Adonis Mardi Gras ball! We regret any delay that has occurred, but we couldn't help it. This auditorium is too old."

Then it began. The spotlight danced on the curtain, and tropical music played. It crescendoed and stopped.

First came out members of last year's ball, followed by who would replace them for this year. There were Dukes, Maids, all kinds of things.

The each had costumes to make them look like they were out of a Buffet song. There was a group of sharks, two people made to look like sailors, and others–my favorite was the cheeseburger.

And then came the Captain, dressed like Jimmy Buffet(or a member of his band...I wasn't sure.). He walked around and waved at us, just like everyone else.

Then came the King and Queen. The Queen was dressed in a fancy dress, and the King looked slightly like Jimmy Buffet. They waved and sat in two large chairs at the center of the stage.

After the ball, we walked out of the auditorium and used the bathroom. There was a party scheduled for after the ball.

"Did you like it?" Archie asked as I walked out. I nodded.

"It was boring...but interesting," I said. "The costume designs were certainly intriguing."

"I already told you about last year, didn't I?" Archie asked as we walked out the corridor that held the bathrooms.

"Yes," I said. "Do they have any pictures? I'd like to look at them."

Archie shook his head. "Don't ask me, though there may be some kind of photo album. And I do suggest staying low around here. These drunks...they're crazy–especially at Mardi Gras. That's when the drinking limit seems to disappear. Maybe the cops are drunk, too...I dunno," Archie said. I nodded, and we made our way into the life of the party.

"Hey! Connie!" said a man to me. I stared at him. I _could_ use this man to my advantage and get a pretty good laugh at it. The man ran up to me and hugged me.

"I missed you so much, you pretty thing," he said as he tried to kiss me. I slammed him in the jaw.

"Don't talk to me like that!" I said in a loud voice. Nobody seemed to notice.

"What? Was it something I did? I promise I won't get arrested on our next date..." the man said. He tried to kiss me again. I kneed him right below the waist. "Oh, God! That's it! I can't take this no more!"

The man swung at me. I ducked and grabbed his leg, sending him falling to the floor.

Must I always get into fights with crazed men?

The man bit into my arm. I kicked him in the face. The man's face began to bleed. He cursed at me before landing a kick in my chest.

"Connie, come on! I promise, I'll be better. Come on!" the man said. I stared at him in confusion.

"Who the heck is Connie?" I said as he collapsed on the floor. The man got up and stared at me in shock.

"Oh my God! Connie! She's dead!" the man said before falling again, unconscious.

"Give him air!" I said as a crowd drew. The man's eyes opened for an instant.

"Is he dead?" Archie asked as he pushed and shoved through the circle surrounding me.

"I certainly hope not," I replied as I checked the man's pulse. "He's alive, but barely. I'll bet he's extremely drunk."

"What did he have to drink?" Archie asked me. "He called you Connie, for crying out loud."

"I guess he had too much," I said, getting up. "Did anyone come here with this man?" I asked the crowd.

"I did!" said a woman with red hair. "I'm Connie! Can you help me carry this man out?" I nodded. Connie stood there as Archie and me tried to lift the man up. We carried him to a bench outside.

"Could you get could your car please?" I asked, out of breath.

"Sure thing," Connie said. We buckled the body into the front seat. "Thanks," Connie said.

"Don't mention it," a tired Archie said.

"Yeah," I added.

"Gum?" Connie asked.

"No thanks; I can barely talk," Archie said.

"Yeah," I added.

"Okay! Thanks!" Connie said, sticking many pieces of gum in her mouth and driving away. I collapsed on the concrete.

"Hello?" Archie asked. I was in Archie's house. Archie had circles under his eyes.

"What time is it?" I asked Archie. "What day is it?" Archie pointed to the clock.

"Ten AM," Archie said. "You fainted out there. And it's a Friday."

"What time did the ball end?" I asked.

"The party started at 9:30. You got into the fight with the psycho Connie lover, then you helped bring his nearly dead body out...you better thankful she's not gonna sue," Archie said.

"I am," I said. "Was that guy drunk?"

"Extremely," Archie said. "He was arrested a few hours later for disturbing the peace and sexual harassment."

"My head hurts," I said. It was about the only thing I could say. Archie nodded.

"You really should stop getting into fights, Gilderoy," he said with a smirk.

"I can't help it," I said. "People seem to provoke me."

"You do have a penchant for getting into fights with people," Archie said. "It's odd, with you supposedly being a peace loving man and all. I hope you are bending the facts for your book."

"My book is exactly the truth. Completely and utterly everything that happens to me," I said proudly.

"I pity your readers," Archie said, smiling.

"I'm gonna wipe that smirk off your face," I told Archie.

"Might as well do it now," Archie said.

"I'm too tired," I said.

"Me, too. I don't know if you should go to a parade today," Archie said.

"Why?" I asked. "Do you have any idea how long I have to stay here?"

"You leave Wednesday," Archie said.

"You were supposed to take me to Bourbon Street the day after I got here," I told Archie.

"I'm lazy," he said. "Besides, Bourbon Street's full of kooks and weird places. It's a tough place to be in, but I'll take you their Tuesday."

"I mean, you don't have to..." I said.

"No, it's every tourist's dream. You need to go there," Archie said. He smiled.

"Do you have some headache medicine?" I asked Archie as I got up, discovering I was wearing what I had worn the night before.

"Yeah, I got some Tylenol. It's in the kitchen. Why don't you take a shower first?" Archie asked as I stepped on the floor.

" 'Kay, sure," I said Archie walked out the bedroom. I could smell something peculiar. "What's that smell?"

"Cookies," Archie said. "Chocolate chip." Archie stopped at the door frame. "Bathroom's right over here," he said, pointing across the hall. "I got your suitcase in there."

"Thanks," I said. Archie shut the door.

I stepped out of the bathroom, newly clean. I walked through the expansive white hallway of Archie's house to the kitchen, following my sense of smell.

"They're delicious," Archie said. I nodded and grabbed a cookie.

"They certainly are. Are we going to a parade?" I asked.

"What did I tell you?" Archie asked with a frown on his face. "You really need a day off."

"I already had that," I said. "Besides, where's the Tylenol?" Archie opened a cabinet and grabbed the Tylenol, then threw it to me. He gave me a class of water.

"Take two," he said.

"I know, I know. You're not my mother," I told Archie before I swallowed my painkillers.

"I'm glad about that," Archie said. "How is your mum anyway?"

"She's doing great. Healthier than ever," I told him.

"And your father?" Archie asked.

"Well, he has cancer," I told him. "Not bad though."

"I'm sorry," Archie said.

"That's okay. It's nothing major; they caught it extremely early," I said. Archie smiled.

"That's good. He's a nice chap. So's your mum, though she's not a chap," Archie pointed out.

"She better not be," I said with a laugh.

"Yeah," Archie said, not able to think of anything to say. Our conversation was entering a point where neither one of us could think of a subject. It is a grave state in the art of conversation.

"I know," I said. Archie nodded, and we were silent.

"I can't think of anything to say," Archie confessed.

"Neither can I," I told him.

"Oh, well," Archie said. "Is this event going down in your book?"

"Yes," I said. "It's an example of reality in my book."

"Your book is nonfiction," Archie pointed out.

"Yes, I know that; but I need to give examples of the times I don't go to parades," I said.

"You've only been to one," Archie said. "Life certainly seems to like to make you get into many misadventures.

"That's the one thing I don't like about life: everything it puts me through to reach my goal," I said.

"Life can be pretty harsh. Anyway, tomorrow I'll take you to a parade. I dunno which one, though..." Archie said. "There are a few good ones, and there's one in this really small town..."

"Really?" I said.

"Yeah, but I'm sure you don't want to drive ninety minutes to go there," Archie said.

"Good point," I said. "Anyway, which one would we go to?"

"Wanna go to the Adonis parade?" Archie suggested.

"I've had enough of them," I answered.

"Well, I guess we could figure that out tomorrow. Do you wanna check out of your hotel and stay here the rest of your trip?" Archie asked.

"I guess...I need to call Klerk. By the way, did I get any mail?" Archie nodded.

"Too much. Including a few things from Passport. And since you have a lot of free time, I figure you could read through all of it," Archie said. He left the room and reappeared with a large canvas bag.

"Happy trails."

_Author's Note: It took me a while to write this; I had to take a break from the insanity. I hope you liked it. I think it was cool...and to all my fellow authors from Louisiana, I can't make him go everywhere! I may reference the Krewes, though. Is that cool? Okay! Read and review! Thanks! You rule!_


	6. A Day Off

Mardi Gras With Muggles

Chapter 6: A Day Off

I stared at the sack of letters on the table, knowing I would have to go through every single one of them. I closed my eyes and pulled out a random letter.

****

Dear Gilderoy,

Hello, it's R. M. M. I've got some reviews that were recently posted in magazines for Midnights With Mermaids. As usual, the reactions are mixed. Hope you're having a good time in New Orleans.

-R. M. M.

I took out the first review, and it was rather harsh...but this man has never given me a good review, except for _Dances With Death Eaters_. I don't like this man that much...he makes me mad.

Lockhart Disappoints Again...

A Review of _Midnights With Mermaids_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

Review Written By Daniel Logan

Gilderoy Lockhart seems to have a habit of getting into the oddest of situations. His supposed adventures are chronicled in his series of books. As you may know, _Midnights With Mermaids_ has been available for the past four months and has sold considerably less than previous successes such as _D-Day With Dracula_ and _Dances With Death Eaters,_ his eerie study of Death Eaters–also his only good book. But onto this book, his worst indeed...

Lockhart has a penchant for humor in his books. Whether or not this humor occurs in real life is beyond me. Half the time the humor is not even funny. Does this self loving idiot think it's funny? I certainly don't, and I don't think you will.

As usual, Lockhart gets into a series of misadventures during his study, often consisting of comical violence. It's pathetic. I just can't take this man anymore.

I just couldn't take this man anymore. No matter how much I love to read my reviews, I couldn't take it. This man opinion's was biased. I opened the next review.

Lockhart Does it Again...

A Review of _Midnights With Mermaids_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

Review Written By Elizabeth Harley

There is something about Gilderoy Lockhart. He's a brave man, often undertaking brave missions. His admirers are scattered about the world, faithfully reading his books. (Like me.) He has this thing about him you just can't put your finger on. It's amazing. He's got this magic touch, and _Midnight With Mermaids_ proves he's still got it and is here to stay. After taking a year long break, it seems everyone's favorite writer is back full swing. His next book, _Mardi Gras With Muggles_ is coming up soon, and I know I can't wait.

I smiled and pulled out the next review. I had met Elizabeth once; she's a real nice woman.

Lockhart's Newest Book is Just Okay...

A Review of _Midnights With Mermaids_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

A Review by Jack Jones

I'll admit it: I'm not the biggest fan of Gilderoy Lockhart, though he occasionally can write some good stuff. (I'm not going to go into that; too many reviews have.)

Going into the book, Gilderoy Lockhart decides to start researching mermaids, deciding his already extensive library needs a book on the disgusting creatures. It's a bad choice for Gilderoy after taking his one year vacation.

The subject matter didn't interest me, no matter how great Gilderoy's writing comments are. He is an alien to this society he enters, and his comments on them are quite fascinating. I have to give him credit there.

All in all, pick this up at the library...it's a quick read that is sometimes entertaining. Here's hoping Gilderoy can pick an interesting subject that his writing style can do justice for.

Well, it wasn't that harsh compared to Daniel Logan's. I had three more reviews left...

Lockhart Pulls off the Best Book of the Year!

A Review of _Midnights With Mermaids_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

A Review by Felicia Court

Gilderoy Lockhart is an amazing writer. His novels, always full of lighthearted humor, are genius. Gilderoy is a brave man, taking on risky missions in the name of science and research.

The man himself is a dashing chap that is never afraid to do anything. He's one of the nicest men in the world, and he has that amazing smile. It's hard to believe a man like him could be so brave.

And as for the writing, it's superb. I don't want to tell you much about this book since I'm sure you don't want to know much about it. No one likes to have a Lockhart book spoiled for them! Lockhart has pulled off the best book of the year!

How nice of her to say I had written the best book of the year...I went on to my next review...

Gilderoy Lockhart SUCKS!

A Review of _Midnights With Mermaids_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

Review Written by Toby Janus

Gilderoy Lockhart sucks. I've said it before, and I'll say it again.

Gilderoy Lockhart sucks.

His books are mindless trash sometimes devoid of accurate "facts." It must be embarrassing to be R. M. M. Klerk, the head of Cornish Pixie Publishing. His company centers around the trash Gilderoy Lockhart writes.

It's awful. It's pathetic. And this book is full of the mindless trash. One day, Gilderoy Lockhart decides to research mermaids. Yay!

WHO CARES? I mean, come on, why should I care about some larger than life character like Lockhart? He tries to paint himself as a normal man, but his arrogance and pride get into the way. It's subtle but extremely noticeable. Lockhart's writing style ticks me off. It's humorous, but I really want a serious depiction of mermaids. (His only serious book, _Dances With Death Eaters,_ is also his only good one.) I'm tired of seeing his mediocre books sell millions, even if I don't mind seeing _Dances_ at the top of the bestseller list. I'd rather Jack Pullman's newest book, _Heartstrings, _at the top of that list. But I don't know if that's going to happen...

How harsh. Oh, well. Toby Janus is definitely another biased reviewer.

It's Official: Gilderoy Lockhart is the Best.

A Review of _Midnights With Mermaids_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

A Review Written by Lisa Bairn

Gilderoy Lockhart. Every person knows that name. He's the one man that can make anything become a top seller. If his name was on a book, it would sell a billion copies, even if that book is completely empty. Amazing, huh?

But thankfully Lockhart never writes a book that is completely empty. His words are paintings, giving us enough visual clues for a scene and letting our imagination fill the rest. And the humor is almost always evident; his only exception is the dark, superb _Dances With Death Eaters._

Gilderoy Lockhart's newest novel is the tale of his experiences with mermaids. Full of scientific facts and great humor that never falls flat, it's one of Lockhart's best.

There are so many funny stories about Lockhart's experiences I could tell you that would ruin the book for you. But I'm not. Lockhart's books are not meant to be ruined by mere reviewers like me. So I'll just leave you wondering...wondering how much this book will surprise you...

I smiled as I set the reviews down to the side. Bad reviews don't bother me that much; I save them so I can fuel a fire quickly when I don't have my wand handy. I randomly pulled another letter out of the bag.

****

Dear Mister Lockhart,

Hello. I am Jake Dolby, and I represent the Organization for the Rightful Treatment of Merpeople. I've read your book three times now, and being a merpeople activist, I am offended. You supposedly interview mermaids in your book. One says, "I believe these activists have no idea what we feel or anything for that matter. It's insulting to us for people to believe we need activists that aren't even related to us to protect our rights."

You say that you try not to offend people in your books, but you have directly offended myself and many other people that actively campaign for merpeople. Their civil rights are never considered, and they are treated with prejudice around the planet. There has been evidence your books are works of fiction, and I believe (as do other members of the Organization for the Rightful Treatment of Merpeople) that your book was targeted directly to offend us.

The letter ended with the "F" word followed by the word "you." It was then signed by Jake Dolby. I decided to write a letter back to Jake.

****

Dear Jake,

Thank you for your comments. I read every letter I receive and hold every comment to heart. Everything you read in my books are true, completely true, no matter what the rumors say. I believe an educated man like yourself should take the opinions of the merpeople before trying to continue on your crusade for their freedom. They like it a lot underwater. Thank you very much for the mail.

Sincerely,

Gilderoy Lockhart

****

Gilderoy Lockhart

I yawned and put the letter off to the side. I would send these off in bulk once I was done. I got myself a glass of water and started on my next letter.

****

Dear Mister Lockhart,

Hello, how are you doing? I am your BIGGEST fan. YOUR BOOKS RULE! You are God.

Your biggest fan,

Lee Hart

I looked at the letter once more. I'd been called God too many times by people for the comment to have any meaning. I decided to write a typical response, what I call "Fan Letter Format One."

"Quill," I told my quill. "Fan Letter Format One." My wand immediately went over the paper and began to write.

****

Dear Lee,

Thank you for your input. I love all my fan letters, and I love all my fans. You're up at the top. Thank you so much and keep reading!

Sincerely,

Gilderoy Lockhart

****

Gilderoy Lockhart

I smiled to myself as I set it to the side and picked up my next letter.

****

Dear Mister Lockhart,

You suck.

The letter was not signed. I ripped up the letter, threw it in the trash, and pulled out the next one, which was in a very large envelope.

****

Dear Mister Lockhart,

Hello, Gilderoy. I am Inigo Montoya, and I represent Spanish Lion Publishing. I would like to offer you the deal of a lifetime: an exclusive publishing agreement with us, the publisher of the critically acclaimed book Heartstrings. Jack Pullman has stated numerous times that he would love to write a book with you. We know how much you love to publish mail in your books, but please do not print the enclosed contract we have drawn out for you. Thank you very much, and we at Spanish Lion cannot wait for Mardi Gras With Muggles!

Sincerely,

Inigo Montoya

PS - Can we please have an advance copy of Mardi Gras With Muggles?

I chuckled to myself as I looked over the contract. No, it wasn't good enough. I much preferred my place at Cornish Pixie, even though Jack Pullman is one of my favorite writers. (_Heartstrings_ is a masterpiece.)

****

Dear Mister Montoya,

I sadly must refuse your offer. I love Jack Pullman's books very much, and I would love to write a book with him–whether it be nonfiction or fiction, though he has only written fiction. Once I get back from New Orleans, I will try to arrange a meeting with Jack.

And as for Mardi Gras With Muggles, it's been a blast. New Orleans is one of the most colorful places on Earth, and it has the most insane people I've ever met. I've gotten into stranger situations than a tabloid reporter. I'm going to write a letter to Jack right now...

Sincerely,

Gilderoy Lockhart

****

Gilderoy Lockhart

I set the letter to the side and got up from the chair. I had just run out of paper. I found some in my new room and went back to the kitchen.

****

Dear Mister Pullman,

Hello, and how are you doing? I'm Gilderoy Lockhart; and according to Inigo Montoya, you would like to write a book with me. I would love to do that. If you would like to meet with me, pitch ideas, I am perfectly willing to do that.

I also must compliment you on Heartstrings. That was a perfectly written novel. I loved how the dragon's heartstrings centered prominently, how it was the only clue at the scene of the crime. You are the best writer of crime novels working today.

Please respond! I can't wait for your next book!

Sincerely,

Gilderoy Lockhart

****

Gilderoy Lockhart

PS - I will send you an advance, signed copy of Mardi Gras With Muggles if you would like. Thanks!

I put the letter to the side and pulled out another letter. I then grabbed another one. My brain was in overdrive.

****

Dear Mister Lockhart,

I am a concerned parent, Tyler Banks. Your books have long been known as educational and for the family. However, I recently picked up the paperback copy of Dances with Death Eaters at my local bookstore and found it on the contrary. The story lacked the humor and lightheartedness that made your previous books such a success as bedtime stories. They were exciting action/adventure tales. They proved that life was full of funny little things. But there is nothing funny about Dances with Death Eaters. Whether or not you are tying to be edgy, I don't know. I mean it's a great novel, but you really should stick to your image and not leap over boundaries and color outside the lines.

A concerned parent,

Tyler Banks

PS - I'm including a review by the Family Fun Group in this just to remind you how much better it is to stick to being traditional.

Gilderoy Lockhart Tries to be Edgy...and Fails...

A Review of _Dances With Death Eaters_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

Review Written by Leah Williams of the Family Fun Group

Gilderoy Lockhart is one heck of a writer. His books are always at the top of the nonfiction bestseller lists. Whenever a new book of his comes out, people flock to the bookstore. Books sell out in minutes. Pre-ordered books are only held for an hour after a bookstore opens.

He's almost always on top of his game. Except now. Gilderoy Lockhart has written the dark tale of his encounters with You-Know-Who's Death Eaters. The story is scary and features the uncensored language of the Death Eaters–whose names remain anonymous throughout the entire book, unless they were arrested before publishing.

Gilderoy is, as usual, on top of the writing game. But his taste for subject matter is bad. Nobody wants read a book about Death Eaters, and the only reason that this book is selling off the shelves is because of the name of the man that wrote it. I will not be reading any other books by Lockhart until he formally apologizes for this book. Nobody wants the public exposed to the Dark Arts.

Read next week for Gilderoy Lockhart's apology, which I'm sure he will issue after reading this.

Ah, yes...this review. I remember reading it. I never issued an apology, rather a letter that said I was sticking with my book, whether they liked it or not.

I thought for a moment. Yes, my books were usually associated with family fare. But like any other writer, I always want to try something different sometimes. It's annoying to write the same style all the time, no matter how much I enjoy it. And it's annoying to put up with the wrath of these censorship groups as they try to control what people read. I hate them. They try to make us writers write like we used to and attempt to ban our books. They attempt to organize boycotts and everything. It hurts sales.

****

Dear Mister Banks,

I don't want to be read or anything, but didn't the fact that the book said "ADULT NONFICTION" on the spine mean anything to you? I am tired of hearing people say that I should be like my old, clean self! It's rude to tell a person how they should write something; it violates a thing called free speech, especially when writers try to have a change in pace. YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I WENT THROUGH WHILE TRYING TO WRITE DANCES WITH DEATH EATERS! Would you like to spend a few weeks with Death Eaters, accompany them on their missions?

No, I didn't think so. Not to mention the fact that the book is completely and utterly the truth. Get over it. It's my biggest critical success, not to mention it's sold the most copies of any of my books. Life does not revolve around you or your pathetic attempts to censor my novels for ADULTS! Get educated before you read.

Sincerely,

Gilderoy Lockhart

****

Gilderoy Lockhart

I put the letter to the side and smiled, having spoken my wrath. I would have to get forgiven by God. Wrath is one of the seven deadly sins. I took out the next letter.

****

Dear Mister Lockhart,

I would like thank you for your depiction of Death Eaters. If the Ministry had not known I was under the influence of You-Know-Who's spell, I could have been sent to Azkaban. I am grateful for you, and God bless you. You saved my life and my family.

Thank you so much,

Anonymous

These kinds of letters...they always make me cry. People that had been under You-Know-Who's spell...it was scary, and it feels mindless. You are completely empty. You have no free will, though you can think for yourself, you cannot do anything without his influence...it's shocking.

****

Dear Anonymous,

I've received this kind of letter many times. It makes me extremely happy to see that I have done good and helped people live a better life. Anonymous, whoever you are, God bless you. I'm glad you are living a happy life.

Sincerely,

Gilderoy Lockhart

****

Gilderoy Lockhart

I set the letter off to the side and went through many more. There were so many. (Half of them were from PASSPORT, asking if I had used my credit card yet. Typical.)

Once I was done, I divided my letters in the bag with a dividing charm and walked into Archie's mail room and sent the letters off. It was 7:00 PM.

I was hungry.

_Author's Note: I hope that was an interesting change of pace! I always wanted to take my shot at showing Gilderoy Lockhart answering fan mail and all that junk, plus it gave me a chance to work outside the limitations of the first person format. I really hope you enjoyed this and please review!_


	7. The Final Three Days

Mardi Gras With Muggles

Chapter 7: The Final Three Days

I woke up that Saturday and hit my head on the ceiling, for I had jumped extremely high out of bed. (How I jumped was beyond me.) Today, I was going to my second parade, my third Mardi Gras event.

I showered and got dressed in some comfortable clothes. The time was 8:32 AM.

"Hello, Gilderoy," said Archie as I walked into the kitchen, feeling the vinyl floor underneath my feet. Archie stood behind the cypress wood island in the middle of the kitchen.

"Donuts?" he asked, taking a chocolate one. I nodded.

"You have glazed?" I asked him.

"Gilderoy Lockhart, always the plain type." He smiled and handed me a glazed donut. It was hot, the best kind.

"So, what parade are we going to?" I asked. Archie looked over at a piece of paper on the island.

"Do you want me to make the choice? Or you?" Archie asked, speaking in his ever cryptic way.

"You're the expert," I told him as Archie pulled the schedule up.

"Hmm...let's see...well, there's Apollo, Atlantis, Iris...what do you want? Then there's Endymion and Ulysses, to name a few notables," Archie announced.

"Hmm," I said, pondering. "Which one is the best?"

"Endymion's really good," Archie said. "It's a fairly clean parade. Security's real tight."

"Clean?" I asked.

"Yes, clean," Archie said.

"As in no litter, bad smells, crazed drunkards, or drug dealers?" I questioned. Archie laughed.

"Those are things you can't escape in New Orleans. There's just no gratuitous nudity."

I too did believe this was something a married man should avoid. "What time does it start?" I asked Archie. Archie checked the schedule once more.

"Five. As for what to do then, I figure you should to Klerk. He's been missing you. Ya'll really should talk more often," Archie told me.

"Ya'll?" I asked, wondering what this strange word meant.

"You all," Archie said. "I swear, some people and their ignorance for other languages..."

"You're right; I speak English, not South Louisianan," I told him.

"And that's not how you say it either. Down here, we say it Louie-ze-anna, not Lou-ze-anna," he said, spelling it phonetically for me.

"Okay," I said. "I'll go make that phone call."

I stepped into my room and picked up the phone. Then I set it down. "Archie, the number's extremely long distance!" I yelled to Archie across the house.

"It's okay!" Archie replied. "We've got the money!"

Brave last words. I picked up the phone and dialed Archie's number. Hopefully, he was still at work.

"Hello, and thank you for calling Pixie Movers," said a recording on the other end. I recognized this front, designed to stop Muggles that dial wrong numbers.

"Archie Delis please," I said. I heard a click on the other line.

"Hello?" asked a gruff British voice. "I'm leaving work; so whoever you are, you're ticking me off."

"Archie, it's me! Gilderoy!"

"Yeah, do you know how many times I get that a day? Okay, if you're Lockhart, then what's your next book after _Mardi Gras With Muggles?_ You talked about it with me all the time, and this was your dream project," Klerk said.

"My autobiography. We haven't titled it yet," I said. Perhaps _Magical Me_ is a good title...

"Okay, I guess you're Lockhart. Anyway, why haven't you been calling in?" Klerk asked me.

"I've been busy," I told him. "Yesterday I was answering fan mail, and today I'm going to parade. Friday I was at a Mardi Gras ball."

"You sound pretty busy. Did you get the letter I sent you?" R. M. M. said.

"Yes, I did. I still cannot stand how harsh these reviews can be, but I get over it," I said. "I always like those positive reviews though."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Good reviews are always good publicity," Klerk said, always the positive thinker.

"Whatever, R. M. Anyway, things have been going swell here; the book's gonna be superb."

"That's great. Anyway, don't want to build up that long distance bill, so I guess I'll be saying goodbye now," Klerk said.

"Bye." And with that, the phone was hung up.

"Time to go," Archie said at four. "It's about a thirty minute drive. Get in Old Maria. She's fixed."

" 'Kay," I said. I noticed the chairs in the backseat, along with the bags.

Archie tried to start up the car. It grunted, resisting his efforts with the keys to turn it on.

"Come on!" he said. "I really don't feel like apparating today..." He tried again. No response.

Archie cursed, then stepped out of Old Maria. I grabbed the chairs and the bags and got out as well.

"Well, we can leave five minutes before the parade starts," Archie said. "But it looks like Old Maria's died on me..." Archie leaned against the truck. "It's been a great nine years." Archie turned back to me.

"You sure you can't fix it?" I asked.

"Old Maria's died out before...but never like this. It sounded extremely different than all the other times I've taken her to the shop...I'll guess I'll name my next truck New Maria..."

"That's a good name; I don't think Maria, Junior, would be good..." I said as Archie put his hand on the window, staring solemnly at his truck like a man mourning a beloved relative.

"Yes...now please leave me and Maria alone...please?" Archie asked as his eyes began to swell up.

"Sure," I said and walked away.

We found ourselves behind a very dirty building a few feet away from the parade. Archie's face was red, and he had the bags in his hand. I had gotten stuck with the chairs.

"Over there...not as big of a crowd," Archie said, pointing to a trash inhabited area of the street.

"Oh, great," I said as we sat down. "Where exactly on the parade route is this?"

"The middle...we still got here early...would have been here at the same time..." Archie said, pulling down the folding chair and sitting down on the street's edge.

"It's hot out here," I told Archie. Archie stretched out in his chair, hitting my head.

"It's almost always hot here. I remember once though; it actually snowed. That's rare though. More likely to rain," my friend stated. "It's humid out here, too. And it never ends. Well, sometimes it gets crazy; and my nose starts to bleed...almost everyone's nose bleeds then. It's always an extremely tough time then..." And Archie continued on, relating the story of his wife's nosebleed.

I simply nodded and waited for the parade to start...

And the parade came. It followed the format of the Hercules parade really. Their theme seemed to be "Witches and Wizards." The captain was dressed in a dark blue cloak with golden stars and wore a similar tall hat. And as for his shoes, they were laughable. The ends were rolled and pointed up. Well, at least we know Muggles aren't in touch with our world.

I received golden, purple, and green doubloons from the main royalty. The front had a mask with the words "THE KREWE OF ENDYMION" running through it. The back had a man pointing a wand, which seemed to have sparks coming from it.

"Like their theme?" Archie asked as he caught some beads from a float decorated like a castle. I caught a pair of pantyhose.

"Ugh," I said.

"Nice undies," Archie told me as he caught a plastic cup with a royalty listing on it.

"Oh, very funny." A group of children were jumping and screaming at a man on the float to throw them stuff, but it seemed the floats had stopped. The man was dressed to be like some kind of troll and was chatting with a friend.

Then the floats began to move. The man gave his friend a huge bag of beads–the nice type–and went on. The children never got anything.

"You big meanie!" yelled one boy, about eight.

_"Loser!"_ yelled a girl, who looked to be ten. The man didn't look back, and I was sure he probably didn't care.

I slumped back into my chair, wiping my brow. "It's too hot," I said. "Stupid heat wave..."

"Marching band's coming," Archie said as a float passed by. "That song's "Mardi Gras Mambo." Real popular during this holiday."

The band must have been pretty hot, wearing those uniforms...I could smell some of the members on the farthest side from where I was. The band was from Shreveport, Louisiana.

The next float was dressed like a dragon. There was even fire coming out of the "nose." The people on it were dressed like dragons as well, and they seemed to be all children.

And these children...not many throws went to adults. It seemed to be revenge on the ignorant adults that did not care much for the children that seemed to be much more in the spirit than adults.

All the children around me were going crazy, and the kids on the float were as well. They must have been out of throws on the float by the time they moved on.

After a truck advertising Bernie's Bakery (the largest sponsor of the parade, with five locations throughout New Orleans) came a marching band, this one from Alabama. They were playing a tune I had never heard before, but it certainly was good.

Then came a group of local politicians on a float. "That's the mayor of New Orleans, a Democrat. And there's another councilman...most of them are Republicans...and that's good," Archie told me as we were bombarded by throws from the politicians.

"What?" I asked, confused. The American political system is not for me.

"The Republicans are the guys that support business. They're conservatives. And the best. The dumb Democrats support the working folk, in other words the guy living across the street from you that's been on welfare forever. See my point?" Archie asked, giving me this oh so brief look into the American political party system.

"Yes, I see. And Louisiana's primarily poor, so it's dominated by Democrats...yes, I see..." I said. It made sense...Archie was always a guy that believed in business first.

"It makes the world go 'round," he had once said. Politics were a very personal subject for the former spy, and it was easy to see why.

Then came another marching band. Did it ever stop? They were silent, this one...

Then we got a float from the sponsor, Jack Hyde, U.S. Congressman, promoting peace, equal rights, and gumbo. "Gumbo?" I asked, not aware of this strange thing.

"It's like a soup. Heavily flavored with all kinds of foods in it. Really good," Archie said. It certainly sounded like it.

And on the parade came, throwing marching bands at us left and right, along with some floats and sponsors' ads...it was a show. Mardi Gras parades are definitely good advertising. I wished this ritual was as known in the wizard world...imagine the profits I could pull in from a float.

We apparated away at about 6:00. The last of the parade was passing by. I had some candy, cheap plastic toys–including a huge toothbrush, some bad and good beads, many cups, and a cup holder. This parade had been good to me.

Archie stopped at Old Maria. This was really tough on him, but it just proves you can't get too emotionally attached to material objects...

"Old Maria," he said. "Old Maria, why do you have to leave me now? Couldn't we have just had one more week? I never got to say goodbye..." I saw Archie's reflection in the window.

"Archie, I think I'll leave you...two alone," I said. Archie nodded.

"Yes," he said while sobbing. "That would be best. Turn on the weather forecast when you get inside, okay?" Archie asked as he stepped inside the car.

"Sure," I said and stepped inside. I walked into the living room and grabbed the remote, turning the TV on.

"Oh, Jack...I love you," said the woman on TV. The man standing next to her stared her in the eyes.

"You...you killed my wife...my children...oh, God I love you!" The man and woman proceeded to kiss passionately.

How did I change the channel? I pressed a button, and up the channel went.

"Hello!" said a man on the TV. "I bet you're wondering who I am! Well, I'm here to solve your problems! Buy my book, _The Men's Guide to Solving Problems_! This book will show you how to kick your door properly and how hard to slam that–" Up the channel went.

"Maybe it was Utah..." said the man on TV...up goes the channel. Ah, I had found the Weather Channel.

"And for all you in New Orleans...it looks like the next two days of party season are going to be a bummer. Yes, folks, it's gonna rain. And it's gonna rain hard. So hard, Mardi Gras will be canceled! Haha! Haha! Haha! Haha!" said the forecaster.

"Archie," I said as I opened the outside door to find Archie trying to start the car. "It's gonna pour."

The car grunted and died. Archie opened the door and stopped out, his face covered with sweat. "What?" he asked. I saw lightning and heard thunder. Then it began to pour.

"It's gonna pour!" I said as another thunderclap sounded. Archie nodded.

"I can see that!" he said sarcastically.

"For the next two days!" I told him.

"What? Two days?"

"Yeah!" I said. Archie punched through air.

"Don't think there are gonna be many parades if the forecast's right..." Archie said. "And that sucks; we're gonna miss the Eve parade. I don't like going to a parade in the rain..."

He was right. Sunday, it poured. Monday, it poured. We did not go to a parade. Tuesday, the sun was shining brightly through the window.

"Bacon?" I asked as I walked into the kitchen. Archie nodded. "Did you check me out of my hotel?"

"Yeah, got Klerk to get ya' out," Archie said. He put the bacon on a plate for me. "Enjoy."

"Are you gonna eat?" I asked. Archie shook his head.

"I've tried my cooking."

We found ourselves on Bourbon Street at about 4:43. We had apparated into a McDonald's bathroom stall, which was pleasantly being used at the moment.

"Sorry to drop in," Archie said. The woman sitting on the stall stared at us blankly for about a second.

Then she screamed.

"They're coming to–" she began. Archie pulled his wand out of his pocket. "Oh my God, you're wizards!"

"Yes," Archie said. "Now I'm a very happily married man, and I would not think of doing what you're suggesting in a McDonald's bathroom stall! And while my friend here may be single, he's not that immoral." Archie grinned. "Or at least I don't think he is..." I elbowed Archie in the stomach.

"Look, could you get out of my stall?" the woman whispered. "You're not even supposed to be in here!"

"Hold on," Archie said. "We'll get out in a few moments. Now, would you just remain calm please? I'm going to perform a magic spell on you that will turn you into a toad."

"Don't do that," I whispered.

"I'm just putting on a memory charm, but I can her think she's a toad if you want," Archie said.

"That's okay," I told him. Archie nodded and stared at the woman, who was trying to conceal as much as possible.

"Now, just hold on...this won't take long..." Archie said. The woman began to scream as Archie performed the charm. Then she was asleep, which allowed us to make an easy escape out the stall, finding ourselves in an otherwise empty bathroom. We walked out, which no one noticed as well.

"Close one, huh?" Archie asked as we walked towards the entrance. I felt like people were staring at me, but it seemed no one actually was.

"Yeah," I said. "Almost too close. But how did we manage to appear in a women's bathroom? I thought we were aiming for the men's."

"Slight miscalculation," Archie said, shrugging. "Too bad, huh?"

"Whatever," I said as I was greeted by the bright sunshine of the outdoors. The street was not as narrow or mysterious as I had imagined it. There were lines of bars, a shop called the Argus Magical Bazaar, a Mardi Gras store, and a few fast food places.

"Seems like a typical street, huh?" Archie asked. I nodded. "Well, guess what?"

"What?" I asked as we neared the parade crowd.

"It's not," Archie assured me as we pulled visors from our pockets, along with chairs and bags. I looked across the street, noticing a couple pulling chairs from their pockets as well.

"How many other wizards are there in New Orleans?" I asked. Archie shrugged.

"A very slim minority here practice voodoo. Voodoo's really just hope you've got a hint of magic, doesn't do much. Except for that voodoo doll, though you can make those out of any doll with normal magic. And as I said with voodoo, it's complete luck. You could turn a cat into a dog the first time, but you never how much luck you'll have the second time," Archie said as he leaned back.

"When's the parade coming?"

"Thirty minutes," Archie said, checking his watch. "Might as well pull out your water bottle." I did so.

"Here comes the police," I said at 5:23. "The police that lead the Krewe of Apollo." The police passed by.

The theme for this Krewe seemed to be "A Day at the Circus." The captain was the ringmaster, dressed in exotic colors. The king and queen waved to us. I received a purple doubloon. On the back of it was a ringmaster with lions and tigers above him. The doubloon was framed by a circus tent. The doubloon was definitely a work of art.

The next float held the lower royalty, and it was a dressed like a circus top. The clowns and acrobats on the float were rather lazy; I got cheap beads and a cup.

But they treated Archie rather nicely. He got better throws than any of the kids around...and me. The kids around us stared at Archie in awe, as if he was some kind of hero.

"It was all luck," he said as a marching band stopped and played for us horribly. They were from Oklahoma. They were the Pioneer Band. They couldn't play for their lives...

"How come they can't play? They must be embarrassing themselves," I said. Shouldn't only the best come to Mardi Gras?

"They do suck," Archie agreed as the band walked past us. "But maybe that's 'cause they're from Oklahoma." Archie caught a cup. "Hey, gratuitous nudity over there!" Archie pointed at two women...they were taking off their shirts. And they were rewarded for it...with beads. Nice ones, I must add. (I'm talking about the beads.)

There was much more, and they were all being rewarded. I did briefly consider engaging in this practice, but I decided not to.

Once more, it seemed like every parade was exactly the same. The endless party finally stopped; and we were left to roam the streets, stopping at the Mardi Gras gift shop. I picked up a T-shirt and a cap that said "Mardi Gras" in purple.

I dropped into the Magic Bazaar and picked up a fake magic wand. What a scam! It was black with a white tip! Stupid, I tell ya'...completely fake.

Then we returned to McDonald's (the men's bathroom) and apparated away.

It was Ash Wednesday. I walked into the New Orleans International Airport and looked around, checking the schedules for departures. Ah...mine left in five hours.

I had adequate time to catch my flight...hopefully....

The End

_Author's Note: It's over! I've stopped writing this! Anyway, I hope you liked it! And as for the subject of my NEXT fic, it's going to be...I'M NOT TELLING! I'm going to take a break from writing, then you will see my next fic...completely and utterly a prequel to _Election_. (I can see all you _Election _fans cheering, and most of you know EXACTLY what it will be about.) But I must take a break! Anyway, I'm going to be making it quite possibly the darkest thing I've ever written. Either way, it was a pleasure writing this! Please review!_


End file.
